


Named and Unnamed Guilt

by vintage1983



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Backstory, Bathroom Sex, Blood and Violence, Breathplay, Choking, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual shameless smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hap you idiot, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Repressed Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, Tortured Souls, canon is just a weapon fans use to hurt each other, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage1983/pseuds/vintage1983
Summary: Prairie contemplates whether she could kill Hap with a kitchen knife. She is awash with the named guilt of planning to end a man's life, but also another unnamed source of guilt starts to gnaw away at her.Hap also remembers all the reasons he has vowed never to cross the line with a subject.A visit from the angst and smut bunny!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,  
> This is my first attempt at an OA fic. I know I shouldn't ship this, but I can't help it. Inspired to pen this by the fab work of EarthsickWithoutYou who writes these two far better than me and there really aren't enough OA fics to keep us busy.  
> If you have popped in from my Star Trek Disco fics or are part of the Vintage Twitteratti you know how I got here.  
> If not, feel free to follow my antics @Vintage1983V for some serious fangirling and all round silliness. 
> 
> All comments and kudos appreciated and welcome.

Prairie’s hand lingered on the knife handle. The gained trust of her daily domestic duties afforded her the time to conceal it easily. She could wait, bide her time until Hap was completely absorbed in his work. It rarely took long before it consumed him. Silent hours had passed between them, as she had cooked and cleaned without interaction, bar the distant sense that came fleetingly that he was looking at her. A simple turn of her head in his direction was enough to send him back into his work. Once consumed, Prairie imagined his thoughts and vision were entirely focused on his studies. His headphones were the final invisible barrier between them. They would block the sound of her footsteps as she approached him. The almost companionable silence they had fallen into was the perfect cover.

It was no more than he deserved. He had taken her, taken them all and imprisoned them in the dark, killed each of them over and over without the slightest hint of remorse. The gas meant he didn’t even have to look them in the eye as he did it, he didn’t have to listen to their screams. Perhaps that was her secret weapon, to silence him and close her eyes. Years without vision gave her the ability to rely on her other senses. She tried to convince herself she could do this, she could end this and free Scott, and Rachel and Homer. Homer, she should do this for him.

The violent image of plunging the blade into his stomach or chest, perhaps his back if she could creep up behind him, accompanied her increasingly staccato chopping. The blood would spread slowly; a crimson Rorschach test of her own strength and sanity. She wondered what it felt like to stab someone; her fingers instinctively tightened around the handle until her knuckles were white. Would the knife slide in smoothly, the way it slipped through butter, or was it a blunter more forceful act that would take brute strength to drive it into him? Was she weak for believing it was hard to kill a man? Was she weaker still for knowing it would be even harder to watch him die? It would be slow, she knew that. He would bleed out, fall to the ground, probably pass out in agony. Aiming for the jugular was the most efficient method, but the thought of the blood drenching her clothing, spraying out around the room was too dark to even contemplate. Perhaps his eyes would meet hers, silently pleading for mercy, yet believing she could not see his suffering.

The soft sound of footsteps behind her forced the image to blur and Prairie busied herself at the counter, swallowing down and endeavouring to focus on her task. A small sigh forced its way out accompanied by a wave of strong emotion: guilt; the named guilt that swelled from contemplating the murder of a man who stood not three feet away from her and another un-named guilt, buried so deep she could barely register it, let alone acknowledge it. Somewhere deep-down Prairie was vaguely aware she wasn’t just unable to kill a man, any man, she was unable to kill Hap.

Hap had stood silently observing her, until her lack of acknowledgement drove him to clear his throat and announce his presence. Despite knowing he was there the sudden sound startled Prairie and the knife slipped from her hands, clattering to the ground.

“Here, let me,” he said closing the remaining space between them. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken for days.

He drew himself slowly to his feet. Even at such close proximity, Prairie remained still, relieved that his continued belief she was blind negated any obligation to make eye contact. The soft draw of his breath at her neck and ear made her shoulders tense involuntarily. Hap gently placed the knife back into her hand. She shuddered at the depth of trust he placed in her, felt shame as he unknowingly placed the possible instrument of his death back into his potential killer’s hand. The final soft brush of his fingers over her knuckles, though the finest of touches, lingered a second longer than it should. It was accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. She ground down on her back teeth. Prairie rationalised after so long, living in a glass cage, denied the warmth and touch of another human being, even such a delicate contact would be a sensory assault. It was more than that and she knew it.

Hap couldn’t fail but to be keenly aware of her physical response. His eyes closed tightly and in a slow and controlled action he slid his hand away, returning it to his side, before he balled it up tightly into a fist. The accompanying wave of anger only ever meant for himself.

“I’m sorry. I must disgust you.”

Why wouldn’t she be disgusted? He was an intelligent man, a man of science more than capable of recognising correlation and cause. He had promised her answers and truth, offered her kindness and sold her lies, silenced her beautiful music forever and kept her in a cage. Hap knew he deserved nothing more than her disgust, whatever claim he laid to a greater good. He had never cared what they others thought of him, never gave their derision and hatred a second thought. Prairie was different.

She sighed again, this time a long and deep sigh that shook her still tensed shoulders.

“No, Hap, you don’t”

Both now stood frozen in the moment. He was no more than an inch away from her, yet each of them were captured on either side of a dusty sunbeam that had burst through the glass in the kitchen window, a formless barrier between captor and captive, man and woman, enemy and…

Prairie battled to silence her own unwanted thoughts; the swell of guilt at her own designs on murder only moments ago and the louder drumming of a very different thought. Even the faint pressure of his hand on hers had left a mark. She dare not look down in fear that his fingerprints would be there burnt into her skin, imprinted on her forever. Shock and shame flushed across her cheeks with the realisation that she already missed the feel of his skin against hers. Rising want fought with the temptation of the knife handle she still gripped tightly. Her internal battle raged; to kiss or to kill?

“I should…let you get on.”

It was Hap who shattered the painful silence and started to retreat from the space in the kitchen, a space that was now hers in his mind. Prairie didn’t need to turn around to know the sad and dejected look in his eyes, or that his gaze had fallen to the floor, or that he had sighed silently. It should have meant nothing to her, yet she felt a pang of sorrow.

“Hap.”

He stopped. He did not dare to be hopeful.

‘Wait’ had stuck in her throat. Prairie closed her eyes, pressed her lips together hard and allowed her hand to trail out behind her, reaching blindly for Hap’s hand until she felt his fingers lightly dust over hers before finally gripping hold for dear life. They wordlessly hung on to one another, neither even daring to breathe, as if the sound of either one of them exhaling would break the spell and cruelly remind them of who they were and how they had come to be here.

The space closed between them and Hap’s arms curled around Prairie’s waist until the length of his body was pressed against her. He tipped his head until it rested gently against hers and his breath softly tickled at her ear. Without her even realising it her grip on the knife had loosened until she had let it go completely and she now wrapped her own arms across his, idly stroking his forearms, intermittently squeezing his wrist to urge him not to let go. Time became meaningless: instead Prairie immersed herself in the overwhelming sensation of so much physical contact; the layered scent of coffee and tobacco and soap; the sharpening rise and fall of her chest and his that slowly found a shared rhythm and the thumping vibration of a heartbeat she could barely identify as his or her own.

Prairie banished any thought but the here and now. She had no explanation as to why she wanted to hang on so tightly to him. There was no rational and reasonable way to justify the feelings of warmth and safety she felt, held still in his strong arms, yet it felt perfectly natural and right.

Hap knew the bubble would burst; he knew this moment could not last forever and when it was over he feared it would never come again. He knew he should break away, that it was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. The soft warmth of her body tucked so neatly into his was so much more than he deserved. Every time he fixed himself to move away, the grip of her fingers into his skin urged him to stay. No good would come of this, only pain. He dared to press a soft kiss on the top of her head. She did not flinch, instead tilting her head to offer him the tempting pale column of her neck. Unable to reconcile her willingness to be close to him, he wondered if this was a trap, a means to distract him and escape. For a moment he did not care. She was so beautiful. He couldn’t help but imagine more, wonder if her lips would part softly for him, imagine how she would taste, how it would feel to touch her, to move inside her and hear her moaning gently underneath him. It was too much.

Suddenly struck with embarrassment at his own growing need, fuelled by the images he was creating, Hap knew it must stop. If not now, he feared he would reach a point of no return where his hunger would override everything that was right. With a heavy heart he finally forced himself to break away.

Another wave of guilt washed over Prairie: Homer.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos. Always welcome and appreciated.
> 
> I have been sitting on this for forever, so sorry it's been a while. I seem to have too many fics on the go to keep up.  
> It only gets more angst-ridden from here on out and I genuinely feel a bit bad for Homer. I don't hate him, but it works in the story. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my #teambasement sisters for their support and cheerleading. Shout out to demanding Deb who nags me for fic everyday. It seems to work, keep at it!
> 
> For soundtrack I suggest 'I'm in Love with a Psycho' by Kasabian. It sums up my Hap addiction.
> 
> Enjoy!

Three weeks had passed since Hap had wrapped his arms around Prairie in the kitchen. Neither of them spoke of it; they barely spoke at all. Almost companionable silence had superficially returned, but the air hung heavier than ever. They ghosted through their daily routine, its consistency at least creating a distorted sense of normality and the comforting blanket of the familiar.

Guilt stole her words and pressed her eyes down to her feet. She had barely spoken to Homer; she could not bare to look at him. He knew something was wrong, but the more he questioned her, the further she retreated. How could begin to explain what had happened when she couldn’t comprehend it herself?

“What’s wrong with you? Did he do something to you?” Homer demanded, the sharp rise of anger, impatience and fear laced in his voice.

“Nothing…” she could not force his name from her lips, guilt trapped it in. “He didn’t _do_ anything.”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked, but the question only grew in urgency. The sting of truth only hurt more with every denial. _Nothing she didn’t want. Far less than she would have liked._  Each dismissal and denial felt weaker and less convincing.

She cooked and cleaned, practised the movements and tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. Everything had changed.

________________

The others slept. Prairie curled up under the sheets, laying on her stomach and pressing her face into the pillow.

Her mind wandered in circles, endlessly returning to the same place: him. Her imagination effortlessly took her back to those uncounted moments, silent bar the thumping tune of two heartbeats, still but for the soft brush of finger tips against hers. The assault on her senses haunted her. It provoked a rising heat in her body and a temptation that she hadn’t felt for so long. Prairie shuffled uncomfortably. The others had all done it, some more subtly than others. Even when she couldn’t see, she was attuned enough to sound to identify the muffled groans and thrashing of sheets through the glass. She didn’t blame them. This was a joyless existence. Why shouldn’t they seize a moment of pleasure when the opportunity presented itself. Scott almost revelled in the act of defiance, one of the few ways to say fuck you to Hap.

Truthfully, she had never felt the need or desire, but now it burned and ached, the knot in her belly twisting and tightening as she remembered his hard body pressed into her, Hap’s own lust evident. Recalling the warmth of him, the sound of his breath and the pounding of his heartbeat, fuelled the now raging fire between her legs. She sobbed out a tortured sigh and tried to repress it, squeezing her thighs together to try and blank out the growing want between them.

It was futile. The vision of what could have happened if she had pushed him further grew more vivid, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, until it became too much to tolerate and she dipped her fingers down between her legs, keeping her movements as slight as she could in fear of disturbing the others. A sudden awareness of the cameras divided her feelings between the shame of being seen that flushed her cheeks and willed her to stop, and the unexpected and previously unconsidered prospect that he was watching her, that he knew what she was doing and was sitting above her, willing her to continue. It was too much to admit, even to herself, that part of her longed for that to be true.

She was so wet, but untouched for so long each light stroke teetered between the ecstatic and the painful. It was his rough finger tips she pined for, his strong arms snaking underneath her. Prairie tried to stop. Pressing her face into her pillow, partly to suppress the soft moans she could barely stifle and partly to conceal her flaming cheeks she balled her fist in anger and frustration.

She felt soft, warm waves of love and affection for Homer and wished with all her heart that the glass would shatter between their cells, so she could reach out and touch him, hold him, that he would take her hand and they would leave this place together. None of it was a lie. Yet, in all that time there had been no spark of desire to lead her to this. There were no fevered visions of his fingers, or his mouth hot and urgent on her bare skin. She saw only Hap. Self-loathing invaded her fantasy, rising bile threatened to shatter it completely, but she was pulled back by the dull, painful throb that refused to be banished. It was wrong to want him, to need him like this, she felt sick at her own desires, but knew it would be his name on her lips as she rocked herself to orgasm.

It was too late to stop; she was too far gone. Guilt briefly washed away and was replaced only with a sanitised vision of Hap. His face, his smell, his deep rumbling voice. Thoughts of him alone in his bed could not be repressed. Prairie wondered if he lay there at alone at night, like this, thinking of her. If she asked him would he lead her there by the hand, undress her slowly, kiss every inch of her and then fuck her. That was what she ached for, and now her fingers that had lightly teased and stroked at her achingly sensitive clit were working slowly inside. One, then another buried as deep as she could reach seeking to satisfy the undeniable hunger for him to fill her. Still conscious of her situation, she gritted her teeth and bit down, refusing to cry out, desperate not to be noticed. If only for a moment, she allowed herself to revel in her own dirty, wicked secret. Prairie hurried her rhythm beneath the sheets, drowning in images of him, thriving on the memory of the barest of touches. With a final whimper, she found the hot burst of her own release. Tears pricked at her eyes as the ecstatic high of orgasm rapidly subsided and the void it left was filled with darkness and guilt. She refused to lift her head. She could not stand to look. Prairie sobbed gently until she drifted off to sleep.

 

__________

 

Hap had thought about that moment in the kitchen, replayed it a thousand times in his head, until he could barely stand it. Silence agitated him, noise was no better. He would throw himself into the work, that was what mattered. In the last few weeks, he had tried and failed miserably, to make sense of her invitation to touch her. Mentally, it was far easier to put it away in a box, write it off as an escape ploy, better still to forget it altogether and search for the answers he had confidence he could find rationally and methodically. That was what mattered, knowing the truth about death and what lay beyond this life. Far more worthwhile than his own twisted fascination with a subject. Only now he was distracted. She had always threatened to pull him away from it. Her loose, long blonde plait invited his attention; he longed to unwind it: to hold her close and stroke her hair. Her soft skin diverted him from what was important, tempting him to brush his fingertips over every exposed inch. Her soft lips tore away his focus, begging to be kissed. All of her, the very thought of her pre-occupied him. It was unacceptable; it had to stop. Yet here he was, staring into the monitor watching her every movement.

It consumed far too much of his time. He would watch her perform the movements on the pretence it added something to the study. Observing her washing her hair, sleeping, doing nothing at all, now that he had no justification for. Try as he might to reconcile it in his own head as professional interest, monitoring the welfare of a test subject, that was a lie and he knew it.

He took a long, slow draw on a cigarette. Though he tried not to smoke in the house, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. There she was, the most beautiful, delicate thing he had ever seen and what had he done to her? Imprisoned her in a glass tank like a rat. The others may as well be rats to him, they meant nothing, but her, she was special, different, deserved so much better. Guilt and shame threatened to make him snap. There she was, talking to that boy again. Jealous rage swelled up from his feet. Hap wanted to use the gas, drag him out of there and watch him die. He repressed those uncivilised urges. It would harm the experiment; it was unscientific. Reassuring himself, he concluded he was better than that. Besides, it would hurt _her._

Finishing the last drag on his cigarette, he reached to switch off the monitor. He could stand it no longer. She was settling into bed, winding herself into the sheet. What he would have given for that to be his bed, to crawl in beside her and lose himself in her warmth. He refused to torture himself anymore than he had already and finally tore himself away. Letting out a deep sigh, he closed his eyes. There was no respite from the image Prairie there either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hap remembers how he came to find his first subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks again for the comments and kudos.  
> This has taken something of a left turn, so I hope you'll stick with it. I promise I haven't sunk the ship!
> 
> Thanks to MsEllieJane (please check out her awesome Discovery fics if you haven't already) for the beta read and notes, much appreciated!  
> Thanks as always to #teambasement for unconditional support and to our favourite snack- stay sexy!
> 
> Thoughts and ideas always welcome.

Hap squeezed his eyes closed. He wasn’t going to do this again. He had made that mistake once, repeating it would be unforgivable. Images of Prairie rushed through his mind. Determined to banish them, he took a sleeping pill and settled down for the night. Even with chemical help, his rest was broken and disturbed; sleeping was merely a waste of time he could be spending moving his research forward.

It was the early hours of the morning and light was already flickering in through the gaps in the curtains. Letting out a deep sigh, he rolled over. A few more moments couldn’t hurt. Hap drifted aimlessly in the gap between sleep and wakefulness; not fully conscious enough to control his thoughts, yet aware enough to live every moment of them. There _she_ was, living, breathing, taunting him from wherever she was now; a ghost in his house.

“ _You killed me, you didn’t bring me back, you let me die_ ,” the woman’s voice whispered in the dark.

Hap buried his face in the pillow to try and blot it out, but he was back there, so very long ago, before Prairie, before all of them. She was the first.

___________

 

Hap made his way quickly across the rain-soaked London street and into the gallery, pausing briefly to catch his reflection in the well-polished glass doors. His mouth was dry, and his tongue rasped against the roof of his mouth. He licked his lips and pressed them together before clearing his throat. Stepping in, he was nervous beneath the surface, yet cool and collected on the outside. Externally, the building was the epitome of grand Victorian splendour, while its interior couldn’t have been any more of a juxtaposition. The large, white, open-plan space was dominated by huge, vibrant canvasses featuring explosions of colour dominated by vibrant blues. He should have felt at home in such a clinical space, instead he felt anything but comfortable. Though his suit was well cut and expensive, he stood out against the sea of unconventional fashionistas mingling with ease. Scanning the crowd, he tried to identify his quarry. It wasn’t easy. She was rarely photographed and had a chameleon-like knack of changing her appearance and style to be barely recognisable.

None of this was what he had imagined would become part of his work, but he had concluded this was the only way. It wasn’t working, and the levels of failure were unacceptable. Every failed experiment cost him time, set him back and he was sure he was on the verge of something. Every step in the study informed him that NDE survivors presented him with the greatest chance of success. Now he must find subjects to continue his work. He had wrestled with this decision, spent months setting everything up, endlessly trawling articles and journals seeking the right candidate. He stopped, and his eye was drawn to the huge work suspended high above. Finding her was his priority.

The presence of a woman beside him did not interrupt his study of the painting. He had read numerous studies suggesting an NDE could leave behind an enhanced talent or renewed creativity. Hap didn’t regard himself as a creative man, science and method were his tools. Nevertheless, he was drawn into the beauty of the work and stood captured by its life.

“Do you like it?” she spoke in a plummy, English drawl.

“I do. It’s beautiful. I can’t say I understand it. I’m not an art critic, or even a connoisseur of modern art, but I do know I like it. It draws you in, to…another place. I don’t know what that means”

“I know what it means.”

He turned slowly, she was still fixed on the painting above. The woman had a sharp black bob and pale skin, illuminated by a slick of dark red lipstick. Hap couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to breathe in the fitted, corset-like black dress and forced his gaze away from cleavage barely contained by the broad straps and square neckline. He couldn’t be sure. The last picture he had seen showed a rather bohemian woman with much longer, fair hair. 

She finally turned her gaze to him, eyes twinkling as she fleetingly scanned him, flirtatiously rolling her lip between her teeth.

“Are you sure you’re not an art critic? They don’t fucking understand it either. Drink?” she asked snatching two glasses of champagne from the passing waitress.

He took it, still a little stunned by her coarse language.

“This is your work?”

She laughed and took a sip.

“Laura Carter-Howe,” she offered her hand limply.

He took it.

“Dr Hunter Aloysius Percy.”

“Positively Etonian,” she laughed.

“People call me Hap.”

“I’m not people.”

Her eyes burned intensely. It was a relief, so far, so good, and easier than he had imagined. She smiled wickedly. The thought of taking someone violently, against their will terrified him. In his mind, he could gently persuade, skim over the truth, but struggled to understand how someone would not be willing to make sacrifices in the name of such discovery.

“I think I may be taking up too much of your time,” he gestured towards the hovering queue forming around them, too polite to interrupt for now.

“You want to get the fuck out of here?”

How could he refuse?

___________

 

The bar was busy and noisy, a world away from the serene atmosphere of the art gallery.

“Is this place alright for you?” she bellowed over the music, chattering and clinking of glasses, her cut-glass accent dissipating into something much softer and natural.  They took a seat in a corner booth.

“It’s…lively,” he answered. It wasn’t his first choice of venue.

“Exactly. I can’t stand it in there, full of arse-licking sycophants. Pretentious, talentless twats. Nothing but hangers-on. I want to make my art. People buy it and that funds my life, so I can make more. The rest bores me, I just want to work.”

“I understand that.” _More than she could possibly imagine_ , he thought to himself.

Hap needed to refocus on his goal. Nerves returned, and he took a gulp of his drink.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Laura was already helping herself to a cigarette and fixing it in an elegant, black holder. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze as he leant forward to offer a light. He wasn’t the greatest reader of women, but her signs were less than subtle.

His voice lowered.

“You had a NDE, right?”

“A what?”

“A near death experience, you died…and came back. I read about you, an unknown before it happened and now you’re the darling of the London art scene.”

“Are you sure you’re not an art critic? Or a journalist? I don’t talk to fucking journalists.”

 Agitation at the idea of being interviewed showed. She stiffened in her seat, virtually showing her teeth and spitting the words at him. Her body language was defensive, she was possibly ready bolt. Hap kicked himself for his clumsy choice of words. Flirting wasn’t his forte.

“I’m a doctor, a scientist. I study the phenomena.”

Laura relaxed a little.

“You want to know what it’s like…dying?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“I’m interested, please, from a scientific point of view.”

She considered it for a moment.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’ll think I’m crazy, certifiable, positively fucking bonkers.”

Hap brushed his fingers over hers, lightly with the intention of coaxing her into sharing, driven by knowledge and a hint of something else he didn’t care to admit to.

“I won’t. I promise.”

She swallowed and closed her eyes.

“I died,” she sighed, “except I didn’t die. I took a huge line of coke and I was gone. Not high, not sparked out for the night, medically dead, for I don’t know how long. When your heart is no longer beating, it means you’re dead, right?”

He nodded.

“But you’re not. I went somewhere. Somewhere else, and it was _beautiful_. I can’t describe it, I can’t explain it, but it was beyond beautiful. The things I remember at least. It isn’t as clear as I’d like it to be. We don’t just die, dead, the end. There’s more I’ve seen it.”

This was more than he had dared to hope for. He tried to contain his excitement, to hold himself together; he couldn’t lose her now, there was too much potential there.

“So now you paint what you saw?”

“It’s so much more than that. I see light and colour in whole new ways. I want to remember, to not forget. I want…it to take me back there. I want to go back.”

Hap was taken aback by her intensity. The swell of feeling it evoked surprised even him. Laura’s face lit up. Now he was completely convinced this was no drug-induced hallucination. She was the real deal, what he had been searching for. Knowing he should say something and finding the right thing to say were two different matters.

“See, crazy.” She looked resigned, her eyes reddened and glassy.

“I,” he said taking hold of her hand, “don’t think you’re crazy. In fact, I _know_ you’re not. You’re not crazy, you’re very special. You have no idea how special you are.”

There was a heavy, wordless exchange between them. Hap was transfixed, fascinated by the story, the depth of feeling it stirred. He was fascinated by her. Even the noise of the bar was drowned out for a moment and the booth became a private space, a bubble shielded from the cacophony beyond it.

“Thank you…Hunter. Thank you for believing me.

She snatched back her hand and the spell was broken.

“You know what I need…what we need?” she squirmed uncomfortably, rubbing her palm over her neck, eyes wide and bordering on wild. “I have a party bag to open and I really need to powder my nose.” She was rising from her seat and slipping out of the booth. Hap caught her arm.

“You died from a cocaine overdose and you’re going to take more? As a doctor…” he looked incredulous, she cut him off.

“As a doctor, who better to party with? You can take care of me.” Laura laughed wickedly, cocked her head and pouted. “You want in?”

It wasn’t a bad habit of his, but right now his priority was to hang on to her. An ideal, perhaps even willing participant was so much more than he had even dared to imagine might come out of this trip. It was too soon to play his hand. It might frighten her off. Weighing up his options, it was best to go along with it.

That was how he found himself pressed into a cubicle of the ladies’ toilets. Nobody batted an eyelid as she dragged him in with her, slamming the door behind them and clicking the lock shut. There was little space to move and Hap found his body pushed up against hers. He watched silently, as she cut the line with a credit card, roll up a note and snorted from the cistern. She presented the same to him.

“Your turn.”

Hap hesitated. Laura was already high, tipping her head back, amused at everything and nothing. Her hand raked across his chest, the tip of her tongue teasingly gliding over her lip.

“You don’t want it, I’ll have it, Hunter-darling.”

His name still jarred.

“Hap, everyone calls me Hap.”

“And how much time and money did you spend in therapy to work out that you hate your parents for giving you that name? And Aloysius? It sounds like a teddy bear. You’re not a teddy bear, are you? I don’t want you to be a teddy bear. That would be most…disappointing.”

Her fingers had strayed lower and picked at his belt. She handed him the rolled-up note. Hap took it, his breath was heavy. As he lifted his head, a warm rush spread through his body that softened the shock of her dragging him to her by the lapels, her mouth aggressively meeting his. Bodies melting together, his tongue found hers in a wet, greedy, messy kiss. Her hands were all over him, raking into his hair, down his back. She ground against him, every sensation that little sharper and more intense from the chemicals coursing through his bloodstream.

He was already hard by the time she was stroking his cock through his trousers. Hap let out a stifled groan. This wasn’t a distraction, he reassured himself, it was a means to an end. She was loosening his belt, smirking wickedly, as he bit and pinched at her neck with his teeth. Somehow, she had managed to hitch up the tight pencil skirt of her dress to allow her to raise her leg high enough to wrap it around him. Knowing it was impossible to free her of her knickers in the tight space of the cubicle, he yanked them aside, his fingers slipping between sopping folds.

“Fuck me, fuck me right now. I want you, I wanted you as soon as I saw you.” she cried out, writhing against his fingers, squirming for more.

“Here, like this?”

She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him angrily, his fingers still working over her slickness, making her moan into his mouth. Hap forced his fingers up inside her roughly, burying them to the knuckle, until she rode against them urgently.

“Fuck me, please.”

Her voice was rough and needy. He couldn’t say her desperation didn’t excite him, or that he wasn’t now aching to be inside her and sate his own need.

Laura clawed desperately to free his cock. He found himself no longer complying willingly, but taking control, slamming her back against the cubicle wall so hard it shook. She propped her leg against the seat, her nails piercing into his shoulder for purchase as he thrust into her. The tight grip and the liquid heat inside her drove him mad with lust as she panted and bucked against him.

The sharp stab of her fingernails into his flesh and a stifled cry gave him consent to take his own pleasure, speeding up his rhythm as he spilled into her with a low growl.

“Hurry up, dirty bastards, there’s a queue out here you know,” screamed an irate woman pounding at the toilet door.

She laughed. So did he. It had a warmth, it was real. He kissed her again. He refused to acknowledge why.

_________

Hap’s bedroom was now flooded with light. For a blissful moment he forgot where he was, forgot that Prairie was underneath his house, a beautiful flower wilting in the dark. He pulled himself back into the here and now. She was a subject and must remain that way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hap is increasingly drawn into his memories of Laura, the first NDE survivor he took to study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some rougher sexual content. Not to everyone's taste, so please check the tags for anything you may not like.
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading, kind comments and kudos always welcome and appreciated.  
> I promise we will get back to Prairie soon and I still haven't sunk the ship. There is a plan, it's just taking longer than anticipated to get there!
> 
> Cheers, to #teambasement for their support as always and shout out to the guys from Tumblr who throw fuel on the fire with their excellent posts.
> 
> Hat tipped to the one and only Man-God as always.

Prairie waited. It felt like forever, sitting on her bunk, hating herself. It didn’t seem so wrong to want him to come down and let her out, to want to feel the sun on her face and move around more freely. Compared to this life, some basic domestic duties seemed like a minimal hardship. Even the small concessions and privileges above the others made her feel guilty, but that wasn’t what was eating away at her now. Deep down, she wanted to see him, no needed to, at least to remind her to hate him. It hadn’t been this long in a while. She wondered what was happening up in the house. The others took turns shouting and ranting at his unseen presence. Not Prairie, she sat silently, waiting.

___________ 

 

Hap tried to distract himself. He knew it was that time. He knew it was _her_ turn, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Considering the gas, he lingered on the monitor, watching her, sad and silent, her head bowed. It was too much today. He couldn’t even stand to have her in the house. There were enough ghosts rattling around it without her moving around in his space, tormenting his very soul just by being. Settling himself at his desk, he comforted himself with the thought that he had plenty to be getting on with, enough to analyse and pour over, before he made another attempt. Try as he might, Hap’s mind was torn between the woman in the cell beneath his feet and the memory another, who could only serve as a reminder to keep her there.

 

__________

 

It hadn’t gone according to plan. Convincing her to take a long ride in a black cab to a hotel that was miles away, when they were a few hundred yards from her apartment building was never going to be an easy sell. Hap had wondered if he should leave, but he couldn’t lose her, not now. She was too important, too good a test subject to pass up on. No, he had come this far; he would do what needed to be done.

Hap now sat in the large, industrial space of a warehouse flat, staring intently at Laura’s latest work. He had spent the last two days with her and knew he needed to move things forward. Time was ticking away until he needed to get this woman on a flight. She was sleeping now, but kept unconventional hours, days rolled into night, furious fucking punctuated only by brief periods of broken sleep and drug-fuelled painting. He imagined her life was little different the rest of the time. Sitting for a few moments, examining what she had created, he was lost in his own thoughts. Art was not his strength; he could glean little from its formless strokes and lines. Nothing to further his understanding. Frustration was building, anger at himself for deviating from the plan and allowing himself to be led into this situation. Using cocaine in public restrooms was not behaviour he should be engaging in. He was annoyed at himself. Laura emerged from the bedroom wearing his shirt, ruffling her hair.

“Morning, afternoon, where ever we are in the day,” she said, sleepily. “Are you about to give me a critique?”

Hap remained focused on the painting in front of him.

“Is this from your NDE?”

“No, not that one.” She was stroking his shoulders, slipping her arms around him, already nibbling at his ear, already fighting for attention.

“It’s you…and me…it’s us. You inspire me.”

He still looked puzzled, seeking form and order in the lines.

“I can’t see it, not like you,” he said finally.

“It’s not a science, nothing exact to it. It’s a thought, a feeling, an emotion, captured on the canvas. You do have those things, Hunter my darling, don’t you? Feelings? Emotions?”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he did. Not like other people, certainly not like her. She was pulling him up to his feet, drawing him towards the large oak table.

Laura shuffled herself up until she was seated on the edge, raking him in, greedily kissing him as she wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him captive. She hooked her leg onto his shoulder and urged him downwards, licking her lips expectantly. Before he had time to consider it, he found himself on his knees hungrily lapping at her pussy, listening to her moan his name. The ego trip was hard not to get caught up in. She was constantly wet and willing, her appetite for sex, for him, was intoxicating and he found he was constantly reminding himself of his purpose. Hap also knew keeping her happy might make the whole thing easier. He could do what he needed to do, finish her off and get around to pressing matters. His own aching, swollen need said otherwise.

Her fingers dug into him as he was pushing her legs apart, spreading open her cunt to lick and suck at her clit, as a mix of her own juices and his saliva dripped down her slit. His power over her body was immense. He would pull away, only far enough to leave the feel of his hot breath against her and force her hips to jerk up, searching for his mouth.  

“Fuck me, please, fuck me now, please darling, please.”

Always demanding more. He almost despised the desperation and neediness in her voice, yet he was complying burying himself deep inside her as she lay back on the table. It was hard and rough; she liked it.

“Tell me I’m a bad girl.”

Hap smirked.

“Tell me I’m fucking dirty, tell me please.”

Unable to help himself, he obliged.

“Fucking whore, filthy fucking whore,” he said through gritted teeth with each thrust all the more aggressive. Part of him meant it, then he felt instant regret and fear. If he had gone too far would she push him away and slip through his grasp? It had the opposite effect.

Laura squealed sharply, “Yes, I’m your fucking whore.”

His fingers dug in to her thighs, dragging her harder against him.

“Do you like that? You like it don’t you? My big hard cock inside you, you love being fucked.”

“Fuck yes, hurt me, fucking hurt me.”

He took her harder, deeper, knew she would be bruised and sore when he was done. It was too hard to stop. She wanted this, so he could feel no guilt. Laura was dragging at his wrists, pulling his hands up towards her throat, his fingers splayed out across the weak, pale column of her neck.

“Squeeze,” she demanded, “choke me, like this.” She pressed her hands down on top of his, urging him to do it. “When I come, do it. I deserve it.”

He could only acknowledge it with a nod, terrified he would kill her in his enthusiasm, but unable to refuse. He knew he would have to kill her, that he would do it as many times as it took, but not like this. It disgusted him. Hap had taken lives, with unintentional permanence, but never with his bare hands, like an animal. His disgust melted into guilt at his own fascination and excitement in the act. Her mewling and begging only incited him more. Pressing his thumbs into her windpipe he stared down at her. There was no fear in the eyes, they were wide with lust. The thrill of her body shaking and twitching under him pushed him to up his rhythm and fuck her harder until her eyes were rolling back, and he could feel her coming for him. Squeezing the oxygen from her body excited him more than he cared to admit, until he could stand it no more, and spilled into her harder than he had in his life.

As his orgasm subsided, Hap regained control, loosening his grip. Laura gasped for air. He worried he had made a mistake, but quickly a warm smile spread across her face.

“That’s it, that’s how I want to go back, like that. Take me back there like that, Hunter, every day, forever. You stopped too soon, this time, but you won’t. Tell me you won’t.”

She really didn’t know what she was asking.

He leant over and kissed her softly, aware, but choosing not to look at red marks around her throat that were already staring to blush and bruise. Now was his moment.

“Come with me,” he said nervously. “I have somewhere quiet, away from it all. I can take you there, you can paint, I can do my work. We can find what you’re looking for together.”

“Can you take me there?”

Tears pricked at the corner of her eye.

“I can get flights, we could go tomorrow.”

“No, Hunter, _there,_ can you help me to go _there?_ ”

Her eyes were enormous pleading pools.

“I can try. I would…like…to try.”

She nodded.

“No art critics, I promise.”

Laura smiled and laughed silently.

“Then when do we leave?”

“I’ll make the arrangements, you pack.”

Although the ethics of fucking the object of his study were not wasted on him, he would do what needed to be done. He had never imagined when he set out, that he would acquire such a pliable subject. She would go without violence, drugging or coercion. A mounting sense of contentment and relief washed over him. Though his plan had to be adapted, this trip had been a success, perhaps she really was the ideal test subject after all.

Now his work could really begin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my #teambasement girls, cheerleading as always. Everyone is welcome to say hi on Twitter @Vintage1983V or Tumblr @lorcastightpants (I'm still figuring Tumblr out a bit, but I am getting there).
> 
> Quick warning-please check the tags for smut content and be sure nothing isn't going to be upsetting, fic should be fun not traumatic. There are some dark elements in here. Ship still not sunk, but it's a sloooowwww burn guys!

Hap finally relented. His legs were heavy as he made his way down the winding staircase to his captives. Determined to banish memories of past mistakes, he would carry on as he had been. Changing the routine and structure of his life was not something he relished, and the longer he left it, the harder it became. As he reached the bottom, he could not stand to lift his head. Instead, eyes fixed to the ground he opened Prairie’s door silently and gestured for her to get up.

Prairie tried not to let it show, but her heart leapt a little as she heard the door open. She bit down hard on the inside of her lip, both to admonish herself for her own confused feelings of need and excitement to see him, and to try and contain those feelings, concealing them from the others. She too held her gaze to the floor, thankful she knew she no choice but to do so, else risk being found out. Still clinging on to the fact that her sight and his trust may be the way out for them all, she tried to remind herself of how she should feel, silently chanting words like hatred and disgust to herself. As the door clicked open, she drew herself slowly to her feet and a weary sigh escaped her lips. She tried to avoid it but caught Homer’s eye as she made her way out. His face was crumpled and sad. The slightest shake of her head pleaded with him not to speak and he followed her instruction. It only stung more, he was so good, how could she possibly even consider the thought of someone else. Not just anyone else, but _him_.

Hap guided Prairie up the stairs into the house. Her face started to flush and burn, as she remembered what she had done, the things she had thought about alone in her bunk. She wondered if he had seen, if he knew. Prairie also recognised that even if he did see, he would never utter a word about it. She understood Hap well enough to believe that was true. As the door slammed shut on the others, she felt a sense of relief, temporarily separated by locks and steel, she could try and content herself with the image of two distinct worlds, like an NDE and living. She was terrified that her heart was slowly dying below, and it was upstairs, with Hap, where she felt the light that filled her with life. Once she had thought the light lay beneath the floor, underground with Homer. One word echoed in her head: betrayal.

“I’ll get on with my chores,” she rasped.

Hap lingered at the doorway, transfixed by her careful, gentle movements, he watched the sun illuminate golden and untamed strands of hair that refused to be held captive in her braid, the light forming a glowing halo and brightening her face. He went to speak, but nothing came.

“You’re looking at me,” she said accusingly, scrambling to find and demonstrate the resentment she should hold.

“Please, carry on…Thank you,” was all he could muster.

She went through the motions of her routine: cleaning; making lunch; remaining quiet. Hap avoided her as much as he possibly could, keeping her out of his eyeline, diverting his movements around the house to reduce the possibility of physical contact, or even closeness. It was a slow form of torture. Watching her at the kitchen bench reminded him of her soft, warmth pressed against him, her fingers curling around his arms, the barest of restraints holding him captive against her. His own shock at her willingness to allow him to be so close, still reverberated in his own overflowing mind. The temptation to approach her grew, to pull her into his arms and hold her again, but this time to not pull away, to stay, to see just how far she would give consent for him to venture. It was ridiculous. That beautiful, perfect thing in his kitchen couldn’t possibly want him. Even if she did, he couldn’t possibly act on it. He couldn’t help but watch her stirring a saucepan, oblivious to his scrutiny, blissfully unaware of the thoughts that threatened to swamp him. Suddenly, he remembered exactly why he knew he must keep his distance. He thought of her.

 

____________ 

 

Laura had bounded into his house, full of enthusiasm, giggling like a school girl, like a woman who had just had the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders.

“It’s not what you’re used to, I’m afraid,” he said self-consciously. He was well-aware Laura had a privileged lifestyle, and always had.

“I like it. I’m not a snob. Can I look around? Where can I work? I’m messy, I don’t want to make a mess all over your house. It will drive you mad.” She spoke at a million miles an hour, darting around.

Hap noted her dedication to her work. Already inclined to agree her untidiness would irritate him, he watched as she discarded her bags. The person in his home now, seemed a world away from the icy woman in black he encountered in the gallery. A sense of unease and discomfort about her presence in his house nagged at him. Doubt threatened to creep in.

She flung herself into his arms with such force he staggered backward, forcing him to steady himself against the wall. Laura pressed her head against his chest and nuzzled into him. Sex he could cope with, intimacy and affection like this, felt alien and unnatural. Finally, she tilted her head up to look at him and raised herself up to brush her lips against his.

“Where do we sleep?” she whispered huskily.

He understood the question and led her silently to the bedroom. He would allow it, even if only for tonight.

Hap had felt acute terror the first time she made her way down into the basement.

“What is it for?” she had asked. “The glass rooms, I don’t understand.”

His heart thumped in his chest. He considered pushing her in, locking her up as he had intended. It seemed unnecessary. Laura complied with his every request; she showed no inclination to leave: a willing captive. Her eyes had been alight with wonder as he showed her what he could of his work on the plane, asking a thousand questions, wide-eyed and full of awe at each response. Hap had glossed over the darker side of his research, ignored failures and kept the description of her role to a minimum. Laura wanted to go; Laura wanted to stay without imprisonment. Why bother?

Clearing his throat, he gave a calm and measured lie in response.

“It’s for the work, sensory deprivation chambers to remove light, sound, outside interference.”

She nodded, and her attention was drawn elsewhere. It satisfied her curiosity adequately and she asked no more. Hap would come to regret not following his scheme and defying his instinct to distance himself from his subjects, but he had not yet learned that lesson.

The first few months were warm and light. They would eat together, even laugh. She would paint, become consumed in her work for hours on end, absorbed in her goal, granting him the freedom to finish work below the house. Sometimes they forgot to eat, other times she would cook for him. He conceded he found her dedication attractive. Away from the city, a cleaner, much simpler life suited her. Then it began.

Hap led her by the hand. He had explained what would happen.

“I don’t want to drown, I’m afraid to drown, please, not like that that, down there. Can’t you just hold me and put your hands on my throat.” Tears welled in her eyes.

He took her shaking fingers in his hand.

“It has to be this way. It has the highest chance of success. You _will_ go back. I promise. If not this time, then soon. You want to go back. Think of your work, think of what you’ll create when you wake up. I’ll be there to bring you back. Think of the importance of the work we are doing here, together.”

He brushed away a single tear from her cheek and she nodded.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Hap had never considered that she wasn’t going to. Her consent made it easier.

Laura had sobbed as he strapped her in, clawing for his hand.

“Can’t you stay with me,” she pleaded.

“I need to record it from in there. You can listen…after.”

Terror filled her eyes as the water level rose. It was not a gentle death. She thrashed and fought, screamed his name, for him to stop it, until she couldn’t any longer. This was the first time he had killed her. The first of many, so many she lost count.

“I don’t want to do it like that again, Hunter. I hate it.” Her voice was resolute and determined. “I’ll die for you a thousand times, but on my own terms.”

“Ok,” he said stroking her hair. Hap had already decided that he would sedate her the next time he needed her to drown.

Winter brought darkness, both inside and out. Colder, bleaker light was reflected in the increasing dark canvases Laura produced.

“I need some things,” she said handing him a list.

The atmosphere had grown tense and heavy. They had barely spoken in a week.

He scanned it, it mostly consisted of art supplies, one or two foods she liked and a good wine. He had nodded in agreement as he read each item, until he reached the bottom of the list and stopped.

“No, I’m not getting you this. I won’t bring drugs into the house. I have no idea how it might impact on the study. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, the fucking study. Well sorry, but I am fucking miserable. I am the one who dies all the time. I _am_ the _fucking_ study. If I want a little pick-me-up then sue me. Go on, get a lawyer and sue me. I am crawling the walls in this…in this…house. My work is going to shit. If you don’t get it, so help me I will get in that car and drive as far as I have to go and get it myself.”

“You’re in the middle of nowhere. Where do you imagine you’ll find cocaine?”

“Believe me, people who want drugs can find people with drugs. Now will you help me or not?”

Hap sighed. She was crying now. He shook his head silently and left the room, putting on his headphones to blot out the heavy sobs that echoed around the house.

He eventually relented. The risk of acquiring narcotics and being traced worried him, but the silent soundscapes from every death in the last few weeks concerned him more. She had crossed over in drug-fuelled heart failure, perhaps that was his best means to induce an NDE. It was worth a try.

She had unwrapped the package with shaking hands, excitement and anxiousness, frantically clawing to get at the contents. Immediately she was cutting a line on the dining table. Hap scowled.

“You want in?” she asked leaning over her neat line of powder.

“No,” he said coldly, turning his head away as she shrugged, and he heard the long sniffing sound of her snorting up every trace of the powder.

She sniffed and rolled her shoulders.

“Are you sure?” she leered, already hit by the rush of euphoria and arrogance it gave her, “you had a good time before, in London, didn’t you darling.”

“Get high, paint, do what you have to do, Laura. I have work to do.”

They didn’t speak for days.

He sat at his desk, engrossed in his work. Laura strode in, unashamedly naked and flaunted herself in front of him. Hap didn’t look up. Undeterred she positioned herself on the edge of the table, propping one leg up and dipping a finger between her legs. She let out a soft moan. Aware of what she was doing he huffed in frustration at the distraction. Increasing the urgency of her performance, she let out another louder moan.

“I’m so wet, I’m so wet for you,” she whispered, still stroking her cunt, fully exposed to him.

Laura withdrew a finger and traced it over his lips, sliding it into his mouth.

“Taste me, taste how much I want you” she drawled. It was a needy plea for his attention. Displeased as he was, he could not resist stroking his tongue across her finger, drawing it into his mouth, closing his eyes and letting out a resigned sigh. She lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him, squirming against him as she dipped her head to find his lips. Hap allowed it.

“I’m all yours, whatever you want,” she said.

“What’s mine?” he growled, now resigned that his now fully hard cock would prevent him from getting anything done for now.

“Anything. All of me”

“Tell me what’s mine.”

It was a demand.

“My pussy,” she panted, “my hot, wet, pussy, it’s all yours.”

“What else?”

His fingers knotted into her hair, yanking at it roughly.

“My mouth.”

Hap stared at her intently.

“My arse.”

Her words elicited a deep grunt.

“It’s yours, yours to touch…to spank…to fuck.”

He was done now, scooping her up and carrying her, until he dumped her down on the bed. Laura compliantly positioned herself on her hands and knees, yelping as the flat of his palm flashed across the cheeks of her arse.

“Slut.”

She groaned again. She heard the clicking of his belt buckle and the next sound was the snap of the leather across her already rosy cheeks. She lost count of the strokes, whimpering on the edge of pleasure and pain, until a final hard lash marked the end and the room fell silent, bar their heavy breathing.

Hap smirked with satisfaction as his hand slid between her legs, her aching cunt dripping onto his fingers. Laura gave a broken and hoarse cry.

“Stay there,” he commanded.

She heard him undressing and felt his cock brushing against her still hot and stinging behind.

“I want your ass, I’m taking it, I’m going to fuck it. You like that?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

He was aggressive, almost violent. It wasn’t the first time, but it was different. Laura enjoyed rough sex.

“You need to hurry up, I’m going to come soon.”

She dipped her fingers down to circle her clit, she was close. Laura felt something warm and smooth slipping around her neck; it was his belt. He yanked at it, until it constricted around her throat. It pushed her over the edge, coming hard as he still relentlessly fucked her arse. Then everything went black.

Hap checked her pulse. Laura had passed out, nothing more. He was sitting on the edge of the bed as she came around gently.

“Hello, you,” she said dreamily.

He brushed her hair lightly and planted a kiss on her head.

“I need you to go in the tank tomorrow,” he said rising to his feet.

Hap stopped, his back to her, barely turning his head, not enough to look her in the eye.

“Awake.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it feels like ages since an update, life gets in the way!
> 
> Thanks for the kind comments, kudos and reading this fic. I hope people are still enjoying it and thoughts are always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Thanks to the #teambasement girls as always. 
> 
> Angst ahead I'm afraid.

Hap had demons to exorcise. Reluctantly he pulled out old files, long-forgotten notes and recordings of soundscapes. There was always a beauty and a freedom to Laura’s, an inner peace he had rarely seen in her waking life; perhaps those first few months at the house were the closest. A wave of guilt washed over him. He found it hard to regret bringing her here, she was an ideal case study, he should never have allowed her to live as she did, believe she was so much more. Prairie, she was in the here and now, roaming the house. It was a mistake, a dispensation for her blindness he should never have made. Now he couldn’t pull it back. Each time he led her down into the dark to return her to her prison, it got harder to put her back there, to turn and leave her behind. He should never have allowed himself to take her hand, now he was unsure who the true captive in the house was. At least absorbing himself in this might free his mind from the equally, if not more haunting thoughts of Prairie that plagued him.

 

_______________

Laura had gone back to the tank, dragging her feet, stifling tears. He found it awkward and uncomfortable, unsure if offering some sort of consolation only made it worse and more painful. Instead, he said as little as possible. Hap revived her gently and took her back upstairs to rest on the bed.

She was barely conscious, hanging limply in his arms.

“Is it over? Have I come back. I was there, I was.”

He paused as he passed the glass cells, contemplating leaving her there and severing the unhealthy relationship between them. Knowing he wasn’t up to hearing her screams today and weakened by the soft murmuring of her voice, he by-passed them and manoeuvred her up the narrow staircase.

She reached out to him, as he laid her down on the bed, her arm weak and wavering, until she found his face and softly stroked his cheek. Looking up at him adoringly, through heavy-lidded eyes, she smiled softly.

“I know I hate it, like that, I know, but you promised. I’m so glad it happened. Is it useful? Did it help you my darling?”

“Sh, rest now,” he said softly, covering her hand in his and placing it down on the bed.

“Hunter,” she called after him as he left.

“Yes, Laura?”

“I love you.”

He could not stand it.

“I…I understand that.”

 

­­­____________ 

 

Hap grew frustrated with Laura’s demands. She was increasingly willing to die, but more reluctant to conduct it scientifically. There was no sign of a decline in her drug use either. Hap continued to provide generous amounts; the results since he had allowed it to resume were far more promising, too promising to refuse her more. With it came her insistence that he should take her there himself, a desire for sexual risk-taking he indulged to a point. Though ashamed to admit it, he enjoyed it. Her seemingly limitless capacity to push the boundaries came with its own pleasures and exhilaration. As time crept on, her taste for the unconventional became excessive, darker, disturbing. He knew realistically a young woman who was not the most stable to begin with, with a considerable drug habit, isolated from society, would find life at the mine difficult. Her obsessive, almost slavish love for him did not please him. It was a feeling he did not, and honestly probably could not return.

Today her stipulation was that if he wouldn’t strangle her on the bed, she would go into the tank on the condition she woke up bruised and drenched in him.

“No, Laura, I can’t, I won’t do that.”

“After you’ve revived me, it’s not that bad, it’s just naughty, bring me back to the world with a bang. Sex and death, inextricably linked, no?” her face was wicked, almost mischievous.

“Are you high? You are, you’re always _fucking_ high.” he barked.

“Aw, hold me, thrill me, kiss me,” she lowered her voice to a soft growl, “kill me.”

“You’re wasted,” he snapped.

“That doesn’t matter. Hunter, Hap, happy, happy, Hap. It helps, that’s why you get it for me. It makes me better. You’re no fun anymore. Have some Charlie, lighten up, spank me ‘til my arse is black and blue and fuck me to death.”

“It does matter, the work _matters_. How can I measure, record, gather evidence that would stand up to scientific analysis? How can I make people believe you, when you won’t let me do things properly?”

“You believe me.”

“You know I do. I’ve built my entire study around _you_.”

He was angry. The constant and substantial deviation from the plans he had made for her at every turn were costly. She really didn’t seem to understand the significance of what he was trying to do here.

“Is that all I am to you, Hunter? An experiment? For fucks sake don’t you feel anything. Nothing. I may as well be a rat in a cage.”

She was crying now, with anger and disappointment, her mood turning in a heartbeat as she reared up and beat her clenched fists against his chest, sobbing.

“I love you. Don’t you love me? Say you love me, please.”

Hap held on to her and they gently sunk to their knees on the ground. He couldn’t tell her the truth. She deserved better than a lie, but it was so much easier.

“I do.”

 

___________

 

Hap watched Laura sleep. There was something uniform and controlled about her sudden movements. It fascinated him. He felt he had observed her move in the same way before, that it meant something deeper than drug-induced restlessness. Unable to leave it to chance, he set up a camera at the end of the bed and returned to his work.

“Hunter,” she rasped as she awoke a few hours later.

He appeared in the bedroom.

“What’s this?” she gestured to the camera. “A new kink? You never said.”

“You move, in your sleep, it’s not random. Can you remember anything at all?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure. It feels familiar. There are…movements, I can’t, I don’t, I couldn’t show you them, but I know they are there. Somewhere inside I know, but it’s so blurry and vague.”

She registered the disappointment on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

He studied the film over and over, sat her down and questioned her time and time again. Each time she could not tell him what he wanted, no, needed to know.

A week had passed since he had become completely absorbed in the idea of physical movements. Laura had not provided the answer he needed.

“Laura,” he said clearing his throat, “we need to talk. It’s important.”

She sighed deeply, all too aware of the disappointment she brought him.

Hap squirmed awkwardly, this wasn’t his forte, but his mind was made up. The work came first and had come to a grinding halt. Feelings were a secondary distraction. He had allowed her to be a distraction, and now he needed to focus on the original vision for his work, do what needed to be done to accomplish what he must. A single subject would not suffice. Looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes, he took her hand in his, trying to be gentle. At least she wasn’t high.

“Laura, the work is important to me. It’s the most important thing, why you’re here, why I’m here. Progress has…slowed.”

“Is this where you tell me I’m not good enough, am I letting you down that badly? It’s not like you can accuse me of not trying.”

“Things you ask for, demands you make, have been…damaging.”

“It’s easy for you to say that, _you_ don’t have to go in _there_. I need something.” Her tone was accusing, the volume creeping up as she began to drag and scratch at her arm.

He softened his tone again.

“I know. I know it’s been hard for you. It’s too much for one person. I can’t ask these things of you, not this much. It’s unfair of me. I…we need help to achieve what we both want.”

She screwed her face in confusion.

“There are…others. Others like you, Laura. You are not alone and with their help, well it wouldn’t always have to be you.”

“How would that work?”

“I could bring them here.”

“Where the hell are they going to live?”

Subconsciously his gaze flicked towards the door to the lab.

“Down there? Why would anyone choose to live down there in those…?”

It all began to shift into place.

“What if they don’t want to do this?”

She searched his expression, knowing the answer, not wanting to but needing to hear his reply.

“I can’t allow the work to suffer, at any price.”

Laura stiffened in her seat and swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes.

“And me? What if I didn’t want to come here, it was no accident you found me. You came looking for me. Would you have taken me anyway?”

“You are special, Laura. I didn’t have to.”

“Hunter, answer the fucking question. If they don’t want to come here?”

“They must.”

Laura snatched her hand away, clawing nervously at her skin, rising to her feet and exhaling deeply as she paced the room.

“I can’t be part of that. I won’t be. That’s, that’s fucked up. I mean even by my standards that’s fucked up. Is that what you were going to do? Lock me up down there in a glass box. How fucking dare you? You can’t do that to people, you just can’t. I need to get out of here, I can’t stay here. Not with you, not now. Jesus Christ, I need to get the fuck out of here. I trusted you. I fucking love you. I don’t even know you.”

He had to act quickly, say or do something to settle her down. Knowing this could end badly, he stood up, dragging her into his arms. Resisting at first, she finally allowed him to draw her in, sobbing into his chest.

“Shh,” he soothed softly, stroking her hair and gently kissing the top of her head. Still wriggling against him, she softened further.

The right thing to say came to him.

“It’s for you too. How can I keep hurting you day in, day out? You, we have come so far.”

“But, I can’t…”

He kissed her again, snaking his arms down her back.

“It might not come to that. You wanted to be here. You understood, Laura. You _still_ understand. I need your help. You, Laura, you can make them see.”

She nodded and tipped her head up to look at him. Sweeping away a large gloopy tear from her cheek, he bent his head and allowed his lips to brush over hers.

“Say you understand.”

“I need to think about this, I don’t know what to think.”

Hap scooped her up and carried her towards the bed. Laura slumped meekly in his arms. He would fuck her tonight, ask again in the morning and decide if the first cell in the basement would belong to Laura. He had trawled hospital reports, news articles across the country. Laura was missed, there had been a search, her parents had offered a substantial reward for information leading to her whereabouts. The next subject should preferably be far less high profile, someone who wouldn’t be missed.

Remembering that he had barely recognised her from her picture, Laura could still go unrecognised if her took her with him. A woman, a couple inspired more trust than a solitary man. If she could only see it his way, she could be so useful to him.

His hand slid up her thigh, fingers winding their way under the lace of her underwear. She let out a soft moan as he stroked her, wet for him as always.

“We could do so much. I can take you back, the way you like it.”

She cried out as his thumb grazed her clit and he curled two long fingers inside her.

“Yes, yes,” she whimpered.

He didn’t know if that was her consent, or just a pouring out of arousal; he would face that in the morning.

 

_______________

 

Hap was snapped away from his thoughts by the presence of Prairie’s willowy frame in the doorway.

“I finished cleaning,” she said softly.

She was so delicate, beautiful and fragile, gliding softly around the room. Thankful she could not see his eyes were reddening, or the guilt burnt onto his cheeks.

“I thought I could make you some lunch now.”

The simple kindness of a meal, a sandwich in spite of all he had done to her, to others. He was a monster, the memory of his journey to becoming a monster was so fresh and vivid in his mind. Watching her standing, patiently awaiting his response, he battled the urge to reach out to her and bury himself in her warmth, seek solace and comfort for all of his misdeeds in her grace. God, he wanted her, but Prairie was too good to be soiled by him. Unable to stand to look at her, to hear her sweet voice, his own anger at himself frayed until it snapped.

“Back downstairs. Now,” he commanded, grabbing at her arm and dragging her along.

Prairie was in momentary shock, her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.

“Now, move, out of my sight.”

Hap could not look at her, pushing her along, eyes fixed on the route ahead.

“What did I do? What did I do wrong?” she was almost sobbing, unwilling to acknowledge his sudden contempt towards her had hurt her feelings.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“What did I do wrong?” she wailed again, his fingers digging into her arm, bruising her pale skin.

Stabbing the code into the keypad angrily, he opened the door.

“Come on, move.”

Prairie tried to stop in the doorway. The pain and confusion on her face was evident. Hap didn’t even understand why she cared, but he knew he was hurting her.

“Please,” she croaked, extending her hand towards him. Frozen for a moment, he stared at it, tempted to take it. The dark expanse of the doorway behind her prevented him. Instead it took him somewhere else, reminded him of an awful day and strengthened his resolve to distance himself from her.

“Downstairs,” he placed his hand firmly on her shoulder and guided her.

Hap didn’t speak or look up as he locked the cell door. Prairie stifled her sobs.

“Prairie, are you alright?” Homer called from the other side of the glass.

She shook her head, barely moving, eyes fixed on the floor.

“What happened? You’re crying.”

The door slammed shut above them.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.

Hap slammed the door shut and leant against it, sliding down limply to the floor. He put his head into his hands and fought against his every instinct not to sob.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the continued comments and support. It's been interesting and really helpful to get lots of thoughts and ideas and it really is very much appreciated. Sorry it's been a while, I've struggled a bit with this chapter (so much so the next two are half written!) so I hope it's ok!  
> No beta, so all mistakes my own, I will sort any out I spot asap.
> 
> Thanks to #teambasement and my resident nagger who keep me writing.  
> I'm sorry it's just wall-to-wall angst! I promise the next chapter will be more...fun!  
> Enjoy!

Hap barely slept as it was, the last few days had been worse than usual. Each time he lay down and attempted to close his eyes he was haunted by his cruelty to Prairie, guilt and bewilderment mingled together in a single confusing ache in his head and his chest. He had no answer as to why she seemed so hurt by his actions. Wasn’t he thoroughly cruel and despicable towards her every day? He had almost done it; he had almost, for once in his pitiful life, done the kind and decent thing and walked away. That day in the oyster bar Hap had come so close to leaving her behind, letting her go to live out her life. Yet he didn’t. He had stayed. She had wanted him to stay and somewhere deep down he had foolishly held on to some distant hope that she could feel something for him, that she had wanted him to stay because something warm and real had sparked between them and she felt it too. _There was no fool like an old fool._

Instead he hadn’t walked away at all. Hap had lured that precious and beautiful thing here for this life, such as it was. The work came first. He had always told himself that, and when he had been anything but cold and scientific towards his subjects it had ended in disaster. Even so, he was finding it harder to convince himself her contribution to the study was the only reason he had taken her with him. Saying the right thing, gaining the trust of the subject, these were well rehearsed skills he had honed over the years. It was nothing but an act, a routine to achieve an end. Hap prepared thoroughly before approaching a selected subject. He would methodically research them, read all that was available and use it to his advantage. Not her. He had stumbled on her, it was an accident. A more superstitious man might call it a twist of fate.

Prairie’s beautiful music had called to him like a siren’s song, echoing through the station, whispering to him to come and find her, telling him she was special. It brought him to her. Hap didn’t have to seek her out, she appeared before him like a beautiful gift. If he skimmed over the details of their meeting, he could almost justify her presence by arguing she had self-selected herself for study. Prairie had _asked_ him to study her. She had volunteered so willingly, without a trace of doubt or apprehension. Besides, she was so alone. That sad, delicate figure in the train station surely could not fend for herself alone in a strange city. Perhaps if he left her there she would have been attacked, or killed, hurt by some faceless assailant. He growled under his breath, angry and horrified at the thought of some brutal animal harming a single golden hair on her head.

Lying there torturing himself was useless, a waste of precious time. He would force himself to focus. Angered further by the fact he was allowing himself to be so distracted, so consumed in one subject at the expense of everything else, he got up and returned to his desk. The temptation to watch her, to stare at her tiny frame curled up on the bed, watch her sleep, watch her speak with _that_ boy was always there, an omnipresence form of self-torture. How he regretted choosing him. Yet he knew Homer had been a useful and still promising subject. He was allowing his foolish feelings to cloud his judgement of the others. Her insistence that she would not take a bite of food without the same luxury being afforded to the others was both humbling and infuriating. The others were far less worthy of privilege, every one of them would have turned that knife on him in an instant: not her, not _his_ Prairie. Why did she have to be so good? He flicked off the screens, adamant he would return to his study. Picking up a file, a photograph fell out. It was her, that other woman who was still haunting him. He examined it for a second but could stand it no more and slammed it face down onto the desk before storming out to the porch.

The night air was cool, there was barely a hint of breeze but a clear, star-filled sky. If Prairie was the bright light of day, Laura was the night. He lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled. There was no escape from his own self-inflicted misery, only his intentions offered any comfort or respite. His eyes were drawn to a corner of the garden, the earth slightly raised. On one side he had buried August. The now overgrown mound on the opposite side belonged to someone else. Hap barely knew a thing about August. He felt nothing other than disappointment at the time and effort wasted to bring her to the mine. The other pile of dirt caused him far more guilt.

The Laura who died at the mine looked very different to the one he had found at the gallery. At first the sharp bob had grown out into longer soft waves. The unnatural jet black colour grew out into a light caramel, softening her features. As the weather had warmed she had taken to painting outside and her skin had a golden hue, a very different image from the deathly pale creature he had found in London. In a rare moment of contentment, he had told her she was much prettier she looked away from city living. It wasn’t a lie and he remembered how much it had pleased her. It didn’t last. In the end she was sallow and gaunt, using more than ever. It bothered him sometimes, that he had put her back together only for her to break again. He took another long draw on his cigarette and allowed it play out in his mind.

______________

 

Hap had fallen asleep. He awoke to find Laura dressed and perched on the end of the bed.

“Are you watching me sleep?” he said, disorientated as he drifted back into consciousness.

“Yes. I want to remember every detail of your beautiful face. I will paint you forever. You always promised you’d sit for me and I never could get you to be still long enough. I’ll have to do it from memory.”

She softly brushed her thumb across his cheek and sighed.

Hap’s eyes adjusted to the light of the dawn streaking in through the curtains and the realisation of what was happening struck him suddenly. Laura was fully dressed, a packed bag sat at the foot of the bed. He scrambled to sit up and reached for his glasses by the bed.

“Laura?” he questioned. Panic started to fill him, his heart already thumping in his chest.

“Hunter, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I’m leaving. I’m going home. I have to.” Her voice was soft, compassionate as if it pained her to let him down.

“Laura you can’t. I can’t let you leave.”

He tried to seem calm, but inside he was fighting to regain control of the situation.

“I can’t do what you ask. I just can’t. I love you. I don’t want to leave you, but enough. Look at me. I’m not just dying for the research. I’m dying inside and there won’t be anything left if I stay anymore. I can’t live with myself. It’s too much. You can do as you like with me, I was yours, but I can’t see other people die, against their will, caged like animals. It’s wrong, Hunter. No discovery, no knowledge is worth your humanity. I can’t watch what it does to them, I can’t stand to watch what it would do to you.”

Laura’s voice shook a little, her eyes were red, and it was obvious she had been crying. She was eerily calm, as if her mind was made up and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Hap was on his feet now desperately hurrying to get dressed.

“You can’t leave.” His voice was raised and agitated. “I can’t let you leave.”

“I won’t, Hunter, please I won’t tell anyone about this, about you. Do what you have to do, but not with me here. I couldn’t, wouldn’t do anything to…hurt you if that’s what you’re worrying about. I promise you. I would do almost anything for you, but not this. Please don’t ask me to.”

Hap grew frantic, grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet, to him. He lurched forward, trying to kiss her, just to shut her up and stop the nightmare unfolding in his bedroom. Laura squirmed away.

“Don’t, please don’t,” she said turning her head away, rejecting him. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

He kissed and bit at her neck, in a fraught attempt to distract her from her desire to escape, his fingers digging into the flesh on her thin forearms, bruising and aggressive. His neediness for a response rivalled Laura’s at her most adoring. While she begged for his affection, he searched for compliance and control.

“Come on, Laura, come back to bed. We can work this out,” he pleaded.

So certain she would eventually comply, his contingency plan was limited. Laura had always submitted to his demands, allowed him to use her as he required. He had pushed her so far and finally found the limit of her acquiescence. Hap had always known her participation was on selfish grounds, the pursuit of the high that fuelled her work and, though it made him uncomfortable her dedication to him. It wasn’t enough. Perhaps he had wildly imagined the work would come to matter to her as it did to him.

“No!” she shouted, finally managing to free herself and push him away.

“You’ve lost it. We’re done. No more.”

Laura was picking up her bags. Hap leant over the bedside cabinet, steadying himself. She didn’t notice him reach into the drawer. Laura would not leave the house; the risk was too great. He steeled himself. He could do this, he had no choice.

“I’m sorry, Laura,” he said coolly. Hap turned slowly, a gun in his hand, pointed straight at her. “I can’t let you leave.”

The colour drained from her face as her expression crumpled in a mix of terror and disappointment, her eyes wide and her mouth fell open.

“Put the bag down, slowly.”

She complied, her heart pounding up into her throat.

“Please,” she sobbed.

“Move, this way.” Hap signalled towards the door. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

At least on the surface he was calm and resolute. He didn’t want to hurt Laura, she had given him no option. One word could bring the authorities here, he had said too much, she knew too much about him, about where she was. These were his mistakes, ones he would not repeat. Hap would sacrifice anything to protect his work, her, him, they were nothing in the great scheme of things, specks of dust compared to the worth of the discoveries he could and would make. Killing someone in cold blood wouldn’t be easy. He questioned if he could shoot her if it came down to it. Noticing her arms and legs shaking as she slowly moved as instructed gave him the confidence to believe he wouldn’t have to.

Hap directed her to the heavy door leading down under the house.

“No, please, please don’t make me go down there. I won’t go. I’ll do what you want. Please, please my darling. I love you. You said you loved me. We were happy for a while. We could be again.  You’re a good man, this isn’t you. Please.”

Laura begged. Laura had always begged, but he couldn’t believe her words now. She was ready to run, it was only a matter of time before she did it again or bided her time to take the opportunity.

Typing in the entry code he tried not to let her see him sigh. This was unpleasant, but he saw no other option now. It was his own fault. He should never have allowed things to carry on as they were. It wouldn’t change the outcome, but he felt guilt.

“I lied Laura, compared to my work you mean nothing. I will not jeopardise this for you or anyone else.”

The gun poked into her lower back as he opened the door. Hap felt relief he did not have to look her in the eye. She could occupy the first cell. Seeking consolation, he tried to convince himself in time she would perhaps see things his way and he could afford her more comfort, even let her out once in a while.

“Down the stairs.”

Each heavy sob that shook her body made his heart sink further.

“Please, Hunter look at me, please.”

Laura spun round sharply, reaching for him, but losing her footing. The loud bang of the gun pierced the air. He instinctively grasped to try and catch her, but he was too late. Hap saw the intense fear in her eyes and she fell backwards down the staircase.

He stood stunned for a moment, open mouthed and rooted to the spot in shock. Looking down at her crumpled frame at the bottom of the stairs, he saw a dark pool spreading from her stomach. Finally, he jolted into action and hurried down to her body, cradling her head gently on his knees.

“Hunter,” her voice was as weak and broken as her body.

“Shh, don’t try to talk, I didn’t mean…”

“I know.”

“It’s going to be ok. You’ll be ok.”

He knew it was a lie, so did she, yet she smiled up at him softly and wound her fingers into his.

“No, I won’t. I’m going back there now. It’s alright. I need to tell you something.”

A look of peace filled her eyes, she was slipping away. Her arm shot up suddenly. He had seen her move like that before, in her sleep. He listened intently.

“There are five, Hunter, you need… all five.”

“Five what, five people, five movements?”

It was too late, she was gone.

Hap gently closed her eyes with his fingertips, bowed his head to hers to leave a soft kiss on her forehead, and held her silently. It wasn’t true that he felt nothing at all for Laura. Eventually he wrapped her body in a sheet and carried her up the stairs. Knowing he could not waste time, he dug a hole in the garden, in the spot where she would sit and paint and buried her there.

He stood over the disturbed pile of fresh dirt awkwardly. Despite his unwavering belief in existence beyond death, Hap held no religious beliefs, it was science and not divinity that powered his pursuit of truth, an observable, measurable and recordable truth, not one built on faith in a higher power. He knew Laura was not religious either. Propriety demanded he should say something.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

It was all he could muster.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in, I promised the ship had not sunk.  
> For Christine, who I know has had a very good day today, but has been an awesome cheerleader for this fic, cheers hun :)  
> Shout out to my #teambasement gals and (unread) thanks to my muse.  
> Thank you for all the kind words and kudos, appreciated and welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Christine, who I know has had a very good day today, but has been an awesome cheerleader for this fic, cheers hun :)  
> Shout out to my #teambasement gals and (unread) thanks to my muse.  
> Thank you for all the kind words and kudos, appreciated and welcome.

Tormenting himself was easy, forgiving himself was much more of a challenge. Though Hap had sworn not to blur the lines between his scientific objectivity and a personal investment in his subjects, Prairie had made it so damn difficult. It was the first lesson he had learnt in his research, the tangled mess he had allowed, created, nurtured for ease and his own gratification had come undone.

Hap had carefully disposed of Laura’s possessions. It had gone through his mind to throw the paintings she had done at the mine onto the bonfire too and erase every last trace of evidence that connected him to her, but they were far too valuable. Since her disappearance, the value of her work had skyrocketed. Unknown and fresh to market, he knew what she had left behind would fund his work indefinitely. Finding an unscrupulous art dealer who, once satisfied they were authentic would pay cash on behalf of private collectors, wasn’t as difficult as he had imagined.  There had always been excessively wealthy buyers willing to buy for the privilege of having something beautiful, only to hide it away from the rest of the world, kept locked away in a safe, or secret cellar, for them and them alone to admire. Hap had resented the greediness, perhaps now he could empathise.

Suddenly finding himself a wealthy man, he had bought the plane. He could fly it. It made more sense than to try and find ways to persuade test subjects to follow him, it was far more difficult to trace and less suspicious than purchasing a second, one-way ticket. He was careful not to spend it excessively and draw attention to himself, but slowly he was able to complete his lab.

Laura had left him something much more important, her final words were not anger or hatred for what he had done, she had helped him with the thing that mattered to him most, the only thing that really mattered. He had to know, if it took him a lifetime, he would know the answer. It had always been his motivation, he had promised himself it wouldn’t happen again.

He stared at the fragile, yet strong and determined figure painstakingly going through the movements in her cell. She weakened him. Watching her, being close to her, touching her, every act diminished his resolve. Hap tried to convince himself that he was being professional, or even that he was protecting her; he was failing miserably. He traced a finger across the screen. He longed to touch her, to just hold her the way he had in the kitchen and feel her softness and warmth against him. She was smiling, laughing. It was a miraculous triumph of the human spirit, there was always light in the dark. He had to believe that. How could he pursue the proof of a life beyond death without it?

Prairie’s sobs and tears as he sent her away confused him. A beautiful thing like her could never want him. She couldn’t feel for him, surely? Refusing to believe it was possible, he wanted to make sense of it. Hap was familiar with Stockholm Syndrome. Perhaps that explained her sudden desire to be around him.

He let out a deep sigh, knowing the longer he stayed away, the longer he left her down there she would certainly only grow closer to that boy. Hap resolved to make it right. To maintain his distance, to not even imagine she could be more to him, but at least to show some kindness. He had an idea. It would have to wait, but only a few days. It would be worth it to make amends and have his answer.

 

_______________________

 

Hap eagerly led Prairie up the stairs. He sat her down at the table.

Her heart had leapt as the door had opened, the familiar sound of his footsteps, the even pace and weight of each step resonated down the spiral staircase. It was another sound she had committed to memory, along with his heartbeat. Prairie could have tapped out those rhythms or chosen his over a thousand similar. Her blindness had attuned her to sound, but not like this, not for anyone else. She listened closely. His breath had quickened a little.

“Do you know what day it is?” he asked keenly.

“No,” she said sharply, “I barely know what year it is, I live in a cell underground.” He had ignored her for days. The last time she had seen him he had dragged her away without a word. Besides, she had a right to be short with him, yet it still pained her.

Hap looked wounded but tried again.

“It’s your birthday, Prairie. I got you something.”

She inhaled the warm smell of pretzels. Throwing it back in his face crossed her mind, but the delicious smell wafting at her nostrils was proving too hard to resist. Perhaps at least she could use this to gain something for the others, if he was trying to be kind, she should let him. His rejection of her still stung.

Hap gently placed it into her hand, his fingers lingering over hers as they often did. She tried not to read too much into that. Making sense of his actions seemed fruitless at the moment, every message was mixed and confusing.

“I don’t want it.”

It was a lie. She craved it and could have devoured it in seconds.

“Please, eat, it’s for you,” he urged pushing her hand closer towards her face.

“Will you let me make something for the others?”

Managing to keep her tone even, continuing to resist the food was proving harder than she imagined. She had been here a long time and missed so many small, simple things. Most of the time she was able to push them to the back of her mind, to almost forget they were ever anything but a distant dream, but the smell evoked memories, not just of the food she loved, but of a life before she had set out to find her father. The memory of disappointment and false hope swelled.

“Prairie, please take it. I did this for you” he seemed almost desperate.

“Why?” she said blankly.

“To apologise. I was…unkind to you, the way I spoke to you, it was…unforgiveable.”

Hap shuffled and swallowed awkwardly.

“I’m your prisoner and you are apologising to me for being rude?”

She laughed. Hap couldn’t tell if it was genuine amusement or a reaction to the unbelievable truth in what she had said.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a hint of defeat in his voice as he began to rise to his feet and turn away.

It was a reflex. She didn’t think, faster than she could question what she was doing or why, her hand shot out and grabbed his. Hap inhaled sharply, frozen, his gaze slowly drawn down to her fingers enclosing his.

His eyes closed as he drew in a breath. Unable to help herself her tongue traced over her lips and Prairie was relieved he couldn’t see it.

Slowly uncurling her fingers, she withdrew her hand gently.

Prairie sighed as she took a bite, fighting away the surge of guilt she felt at taking something the others would not receive. It was delicious. She savoured every morsel, conscious he was watching her eat, trying not to alert him she had noticed his delight in the success of his gift was forcing a smile to fight at the corner of his mouth.

He sat back down on the chair opposite her.

“I’d like to give you something else, a treat, name it.”

His voice was expectant, warmer than she had heard it in a long time, perhaps since they had first met.

“You could let us all go.”

Hap sighed.

“Please, Prairie, ask me for something I can give you. Let me do something nice for you.”

“You could let us all go, but you won’t,” she snapped, in part a reminder of who she was and why she was here, but as much guilt at her own weakness.

The harsh response was making him fall apart. This time as he rose to walk away, she almost felt sorry for him. Every fibre in her being knew he deserved nothing less than contempt. Such a feeble gesture was hardly compensation for the life he had conned her into, yet pangs of sympathy, even guilt at her own desire to be callous towards him, forced her to soften. She could not acknowledge she couldn’t stand to wound him.

“A real, hot, bath,” she said suddenly.

If she had been at home right now, she would have wanted that. The need to feel clean came from somewhere deep within; it meant far more than the practical thoughts of personal hygiene.

He stopped.

“If…you agree to do something nice for the others. For _everyone_.”

“Ok,” he said, “but it will have to be within their cells. They can’t all come up here.”

He would always concede to her requests as far as he could.

“Fair enough.”

Gently, he guided her up to the bathroom. Prairie had to block out what she had seen in that room the last time she was there, the vision of August’s body in the tub would ruin any pleasure she could find in the experience. She tried to delight equally in the fact she had earned something for all of them. The idea countered the guilt she felt in taking his reward. She wondered if she might have given in and taken it anyway, if her morals were slowly being eroded by the life she lived. There was a time she refused to eat if the privilege did not extend to them all, yet she had taken the pretzel without a second thought. Salvaging something for her fellow captives was almost an afterthought, as much designed to test Hap’s willingness to flex and bend to her requests.

The water was running, steam already starting to fill the room. Hap carefully guided her around the space, choosing to selectively forget she had been in the room before under far less pleasant circumstances.

“Soap at 3 ‘o clock, shampoo just beside it,” he said placing her hand over hers and directing her to each item.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Hap hovered awkwardly at the doorway.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

She undressed and climbed in, immersing herself in the warm water. Despite everything that could have ruined it, it was bliss. Prairie sat still soaking for a moment, inhaling the steam, her knees drawn up to her chest. Just washing her hair in and rinsing it in warm water, the lather of real shampoo, the splash of the water against her bare skin was soothing. Prairie forced herself to forget there had been something horrific in the room, her mind replaced it with thoughts that filled her with just as much fear, the image of him, here in that bathtub. As if trying to scrub the thoughts away, she washed herself vigorously. They went nowhere.

Prairie lay back, resting her head and stretching her legs. Knowing she couldn’t lay there forever, she finally prepared herself to get out. Her eyes darted around the room, there was no towel. If she had a fresh change of clothes, she could have at least used something she was wearing. It wasn’t an option. There was no choice but to ask.

“Hap,” she called.

There was no response.

“Hap, Hap, I have no towel,” she raised the volume.

Prairie waited for what seemed like an eternity.

He knocked sheepishly, before entering the room, his head turned away as he waved the towel like a matador taunting a bull. Hap awkwardly extended his arm as far as he could reach, trying not to fully enter the room, forcing his gaze away from her naked body. She knew he was flustered, too embarrassed to make eye contact, genuinely trying not to stare.

“I’m sure you’ve seen it all before”.

“No…I… _here_ ,” he said, almost throwing the towel at her.

“Not when I’m gassed, unconscious? You didn’t even take a sneaky look then, Hap? Who would know?”

She was unable to resist, consciously toying with him, exploiting the mortified look on his face he could not hide. Prairie had not intended to do it, but the devil had taken over. His squirming discomfort was worth it.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Hap sounded indignant.

“But you would gas me, kill me and revive me against my will, but not take a peek under my dress. That’s a strange set of morals you have there.”

“I wouldn’t do that to…to you.”

Prairie knew he meant it. Whatever he had done, however terrible, he had his reasons and none of his motivations were about his own pleasure. Her own face was flushing pink, and she couldn’t wave it away as a side-effect of the steam and heat in the room. He still stood awkwardly, evidently keen to leave, but glued to the spot, still wrestling with the idea of looking at her.

Slowly, she gripped the edge of the bath and rose to her feet. She stood bare, embarrassed but not ashamed.

“You’re looking at me, you’re looking at me now.”

It was true. Trying to save himself from the situation, Hap picked up the towel and tried to push it into her hand. Prairie allowed it to limply fall through her fingers to the floor. She extended her hand again and he sheepishly took it. Holding on, she stepped out slowly and cautiously, gripping his fingers. He was hypnotised, spellbound by her beauty, but unable to move. Drawing his hand up, she placed it on her breast.

His breath hitched as he almost stopped breathing. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, knowing he should stop this, wanting it to continue, but unable to act at all.

It had to be her, she knew he never would or could initiate it, but she had no trace of doubt that this was what he wanted. However wrong it might be, whatever the repercussions, she needed this now. Guilt was exiled, pushed into the deep recesses of her mind by the burning lust that flowed over her. It would return; she would deal with it when the time came.

Tilting her head, she reached up and stroked his face, allowing her fingertip to brush over his lips. He lightly pressed them against the soft pad.

 “Kiss me, Hap, kiss me.”

Her voice was throaty and rough.

Nervously leaning closer, he allowed his thumb to circle the pink, swollen bud of her nipple.

“Please,” she whimpered, as hot need pooled between her legs, the dull ache she felt for him intermittently now drumming a hard, relentless rhythm.

The first soft contact of his lips on hers was so gentle and tender, as if she was so delicate she might break. Prairie stroked his face and his fingers tangled into her wet hair. Her arms slid around him, pulling him close, dampened skin leaving a dark imprint on his clothes. Her lips automatically parted for him as he tentatively slid his tongue across her lower lip and into her mouth. The low moan of approval she made urged him on. They were losing themselves in the moment, the heat and ferocity of their mouths mounting slowly, as so much pent up and repressed desire surged out of them both, passion blending with relief that one felt it as much as other.

His other hand tentatively slid into her wet hair, his fingers tilting her head as his thumb brushed at the nape of her neck. Deepening his kiss, his tongue slipped into a steady rhythm, in and out of her mouth unconsciously mirroring his growing need to be inside her and feel the wet heat of her around his hard cock. Imagining it made his hips jerk into her. He had no doubt she could feel his need pressed against her, fear struck him that it was too much, and she would realise just what she was doing. What was she doing to him? Hap felt crazed with lust and something else, something deeper. Prairie sighed into his mouth as he ground against her, it spurred him on. He could barely hold it together at the sensation of her hands raking down his back.  

Finally, he tore himself away. He could hardly bare to, but her damp skin was growing cold to the touch and he was sure the light shiver he felt had not been down to him. Prairie’s breathing was heavy, her eyes still closed, Hap softly kissed her forehead and lightly dusted more on her eyelids and nose.

“You’re getting cold,” he said softly.

“Keep me warm.”

“You’re still soaking.”

She rolled her lip wickedly. Part of her wanted him to suffer a little, for it to ache and burn: his punishment.

“I know,” she murmured.

His jaw clenched and tightened, tortured by his own need, but clinging on to resist his baser urges to pull her to the floor and fuck her there and then. Hap wanted to do better than that, she deserved so much more reverence.

“I want you,” she rasped.

He could say nothing but wrapped her in the towel and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom, his hand at the back of her head as she buried her face into his shoulder. Clinging on, her fingers idly teased at the back of his neck. Hap hesitated, adjusting his grip on her.

“Don’t,” he smiled. “I’m afraid I might drop you.”

“You’ve got me.”

Hap laid her down on the bed with care, like an idol waiting to be worshipped. He sat on the edge of the bed, tenderly brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.

“Are you…sure you want this?”

Prairie kept her eyes closed, wanting to look into his eyes, but knowing it would give away her sight had returned. She would tell him; not now. Reaching for him, she pulled him down towards her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so it's a smut fest. The ship is presently afloat and all is well...for now!  
> Thanks to everyone for the kind words and kudos. It is much appreciated and always a motivator. Thoughts/ideas are always welcome.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hap allowed his eyes to skim over her body laid out before him on his bed. Leaning over her, he sighed deeply as she wriggled impatiently. Prairie longed to look up at him, to stare deeply into his eyes and know what he was thinking; she knew she couldn’t. She had seen his eyes; she had watched him so often without him noticing and knew they were beautiful. Instead she kept her eyes tightly shut and instinctively reached up to trace her fingers across his face to read his expression. Finding his brow furrowed, Prairie frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

She felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench.

“I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t even be thinking about doing this. You are so beautiful, I don’t think I’m strong enough to say no, but I have to be. The work…”

Prairie could feel his weight shifting, readying himself to move away.

“No, please,” she whispered, catching his wrist.

“If I start this I won’t be able to stop.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

“I won’t let you stop.”

He pressed his forehead against hers and left a soft kiss before rising to his feet. Prairie could only press her lips together tightly and squeeze her eyes shut, fighting the swell of tears, disappointment and anger. The next thing she heard was not what she expected, not his footsteps retreating from the room, but the sound of him kicking off his shoes. She heard the soft brush of the fabric as he took off his shirt. The click of his belt buckle extracted a needy whimper of anticipation and intensified and sharpened the deep ache in her core. Now she was pinching her lip between her teeth as she listened intently to the sound of him undressing, punctuated by his sharp staccato breath. The mattress dipped as he laid down beside her, she knew he was propped up on his elbow, looking at her wordlessly. It occurred to her she had never looked at a naked man, the urge to know, to look at him was overwhelming, but she would not risk ruining the moment.

His lips brushed against hers, softly and delicately. Automatically her lips parted to invite him into her mouth. As he traced his tongue gently over her lower lip, Prairie felt a sudden hot gush of moisture pooling between her thighs and a sharp pulse of excitement shot through her body. Taking her face in his hand, he cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb under her chin, directing her to tilt her head.

“You’re trembling,” she said in surprise. Prairie’s experience was limited to teenage fumbling from uncertain but eager boys. She didn’t expect or anticipate he would be the least bit unsure of himself, it never crossed her mind he would be at all nervous. She had no idea how old he was, only that he was older than her and she assumed far more experienced.

“It’s been a long time, not just that, you, you are…perfect. I’m sorry. You’re too good for me.”

“Sh, it’s ok,” she said as she softly dusted light kisses on his fingertips.

“Tell me what you what?” he said.

“You, everything, kiss me, touch me, taste me, just you Hap, I want you.”

Hap let out a deep growl and this time his mouth crashed down on hers, his tongue invading and claiming her mouth as his own, as he possessively kissed her. Her legs fell open without conscious thought, and her back arched as she searched and begged for more. Any guilt either of them may have harboured was overpowered by waves of lust, hunger and need. When he finally pulled away, she was done for, her ragged breath and the heavy rise and fall in her chest undeniable signs of her want.

He tangled his fingers into hers, then slowly unwound them and tracked invisible lines from her wrist to her shoulder, pausing to sketch circles with a featherlight touch wherever he found a spot that provoked a reaction. With a light touch, he continued his route up and down the sensitive column of her neck, painstakingly drawing out a line across each collar bone, until he ran a single finger down between her breasts and over her stomach. Hap intently observed every twitch and flicker in her face as he flattened his palm and slowly drew it back upwards, lingering for a moment before cupping her breast. His thumb idly brushed over her already stiffened nipple, making her groan for more. Rolling it between his fingers, he could hardly stand it. The urge to climb on top of her, to fuck her as hard and deep as he could right then felt so strong, but he forced himself to fight it. She deserved better, deserved to be adored and revered. This time he pinched, harder than he intended, borne out of his out growing desperation and desire. He paused, regretful and fearful he had hurt her.

“Again,” she rasped.

Hap obeyed, this time even harder, then turned his attention to her other breast, repeating the action and revelling in her needy response.

Prairie was ready to beg. The now intolerable, almost painful ache in her cunt needed to be satisfied.

“I want…I need you to touch me, please.”

She heard him swallow hard and was certain the thumping of his heartbeat was audible without the help of a machine. Prairie felt his hand tenderly caressing her inner thigh, hovering for a second before his fingers slid between her slickened folds. She cried out. She had ached for his touch, for his fingers for so long, imagined her own were his and now they were. It was almost painful as he brushed against her swollen clit, forcing the air from her lungs. Hap teased at her tight opening and she ground against him in a silent plea to feel him inside her. He couldn’t help but savour it for a moment, make her wait, until he needed it as much as she did and pressed deep inside her.

“Tell me what you want, Prairie, tell me?”

“More”

He pushed a second finger inside her, slowly, but rhythmically working them in and out of her soaked cunt. Each time he withdrew them completely, she felt the loss so acutely she held her breath until he buried them back inside her to the knuckle, twisting them and curling them.

Prairie’s cheeks were flushed and burning; her cries grew sharper. He knew she was so close and could not tear his gaze away from the intense, almost pained expression on her face. He pressed his thumb against her clit and drew tight circles. It was enough to tip her over the edge.

“Oh Hap, please don’t stop, I’m going to…Oh I’m”

“Come for me, now.”

Hap could barely stand it, that beautiful creature coming undone for him, chanting his name under her breath as her orgasm rolled through her body. It was undeserved, he knew he was unworthy, but he couldn’t have torn himself away from her now if he tried. He felt the walls of her pussy clenching around his fingers and her thighs shook as she came for him.

If anything, he was most struck by the blissful smile that spread warmly over her face. It was a look of genuine happiness and serenity he hadn’t seen since he had first met her, before he had taken that joy away. Refusing to dwell on that he looked at her in awe. That smile was overpowering, so real, genuine, even innocent any doubt he had about her motives was swept away. Even laid naked, her legs spread, panting for breath as she came down that beautiful innocence and purity remained, a radiant light even years in the dark could not extinguish. Perhaps she had truly smiled once or twice since she came to the mine, but not for him, for _that boy_ , but this was all his and now he needed to claim her completely.

He kissed her lightly, her breathing still heavy, but almost matched by his own shallow breath. Her tongue flicked lazily over his until he tore himself away.

“I need to touch you,” she said with unexpected firmness and conviction, kneeling on the bed.

Hap sat up against the pillows, taking her hands in his and guiding them to his shoulders. She slowly drew her hands down his chest, almost taken aback at his warmth. For a moment she was back in the classroom, a child, full of wonder and shock that the cold-blooded snake could be so warm to the touch. He hissed through his teeth as her ragged nail caught his nipple. Boldly repeating the action with the soft pad of her thumb, Prairie took pleasure in the way his breath hitched each time.

She marvelled at the firm, masculine body frozen underneath her fingers. The power she felt over Hap was fleeting, as she realised just how unlike the much slighter, skinny boys she had encountered before him. Hap was solid, substantial, intimidating, but her own curiosity and arousal drew her on. She caressed his strong arms, squeezing at the taut muscles, feeling out the width of his forearms. She had tormented them both enough.

Finally, she explored downward, lightly dancing a pattern across his thighs until she could resist no longer. Knowing he was watching her intently, her tongue slid across her lips, although her mouth was dry. His ragged breath was the only sound in the room as she reached out to take his hard cock in her hand.

“Oh, my,” was all she could say. Prairie knew he was smiling, silently pleased with himself, she didn’t need to see his face to know just how it looked.

She wrapped her slender fingers around him, enjoying the girth, feeling the weight of it in her hands, the smoothness and the shape of him as her strokes became more certain and assured. Whatever torture he felt, he had no idea how much she ached to see him, hard in her hands.

“Fuck, Prairie,” was his strangled cry as she gripped him tighter then ghosted her fingers over the sensitive tip. It was almost vengeful retaliation for her own denial. “I need you now, I can’t hold on any longer, please,” he growled.

A flicker of nerves passed through her, but she wanted it so badly they were driven out. She lay back and he pushed her legs apart, positioning himself between them.

“Have you…done this before?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said tentatively, fearing the truth would disappoint him. “But not like this, nothing like this, with you.”

Prairie sensed relief and his body relaxing.

She was right. Hap was tense enough without that added pressure. It dawned on him it had been the best part of a decade since he last had sex. He wondered if he should warn her to lower her expectations but thought better of it. Instead he bowed his head to kiss her. Prairie raised her hips and he felt the wet heat of her brush against his cock. It made his kiss even more urgent, hot and greedy, the action of his tongue mimicking the action he ached to make inside her.

“Tell me what you want?” he demanded.

“You know.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck me, please, just fuck me already.”

He needed no further encouragement; his cock was already nudging at her entrance and he lifted her hips to thrust deep into her.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, so fucking tight.”

Prairie tried to hold in a whimper as she winced in pain.

“Oh shit, am I hurting you? I’m so sorry, I can stop,” he babbled, brushing her cheek tenderly.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you even think about it.”

With as much restraint as he could manage, he held himself still, allowing her to adjust. The delicious sensation of her starved cunt gripping him made him grit his teeth.

The pain Prairie had felt subsided into a glorious feeling of fulness that she had never felt before.

“Move inside me, please, you won’t hurt me,” was a mix of a plea and reassurance.

Hap obeyed and the last fragments of control he clung on to fell away. He pulled out almost completely, only to thrust back in as deep as he could. Each time she yearned to have him back inside her, mourned the loss of him and held her breath until he drove back into her. Prairie’s nails raked up and down his back until he was hammering out a rhythm, harder and faster into her relenting body. She could hardly stand it, digging into his shoulder blade so hard she was certain she had drawn blood, as a thin sheen of sweat formed across his back and chest.  

“So beautiful, so perfect, an angel, you’re an angel,” he rasped into her ear, inhaling the light scent of soap and losing himself in the softness of her skin, pale against his. The tight grip of her wet cunt around his cock was a beautiful torture, more breath-taking than he had even dared to imagine.

“Say you’re mine, Prairie, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” she whispered back through stifled moans, as he relentlessly fucked her.

He was so close, barely holding on for her.

“Come for me angel, it has to be now. Let me hear you, let go, don’t hold back,” he urged.

The sudden fear someone would hear her made the sound she longed to make stick in her throat. What if the others heard her? What would they think of her? What would…

Hap’s fingers deftly stroking the swollen bud of nerves that would quickly send her over the edge banished thoughts of anyone and anything else. She cried out as she came, her pussy clamping down even tighter, holding him within her as her body pulsed and shook against him. He followed her immediately, his own orgasm accompanied by deep, guttural grunts through clenched teeth. He came so hard he thought he would burst as he pumped hot come into her in sharp thrusts.

Finally, they were still. She clung onto him, aching to take every last drop from him. The last waves of pleasure subsided, and she loosened her grip on his shoulder. He rolled over and flopped back on the bed. She already missed him, wanted him back inside her, craved the connection of his warm skin against hers.

Hap said nothing.

“Hap?” she said nervously.

“Mm hm,” he mumbled back, still barely able to find words.

“Are you ok?”

“No,” he laughed, taking her hand and weaving his fingers into hers. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Are you? Ok, are you?” he stumbled.

“No,” she smiled.

“Good,” he said.

It felt so normal, so right. They had both forgotten who they were, how they came to be here. For now they were just a man and a woman.

“Hap?”

“Mm hm,” he said raising an eyebrow.

“I love you.”

There was a painful silence, a pause of no more than a few seconds that felt like an eternity as she waited for him to say something, almost anything would do.

“Prairie, I…” he sighed deeply, “I love you too.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So smut, fluff, smut, hoppity, hoppity hop here comes the angst bunny.  
> For lha because she is the queen of tortured characters!
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos, sorry it's been a while. I get distracted with other fic ideas. Hopefully the next chapter will be soon!  
> Enjoy my friends :)

Prairie awoke to the soft, comforting feel of a real bed underneath her, her head felt light against the feather-filled pillow and smooth fabric of the sheets brushed against her bare skin. Thick beams the sun’s rays flooded in through the gaps in the curtains, warming her face and recharging her soul, until the full force of where she was and what she had done hit her hard and jolted her to sit bolt upright in the bed. This was real, not a dream or a guilty fantasy only making the guilt felt far more real and painful; she had betrayed the others, one most of all. There was an empty, Hap-shaped space on the other side of the bed and an indentation in the pillow where he had lay beside her after they had made love.

She had slept a blissful, but broken sleep, in the half-way between wake and sleep she had been vaguely aware of Hap, restless beside her, sometimes sitting up watching her. Occasionally she would stir at the sensation of gentle fingertips smoothing her hair or stroking her back. Sometimes she had been certain she had heard him sigh deeply as she shuffled uncomfortably.

The memory made her cheeks flush, cancelling out the crash of guilt as she couldn’t help but relive the images and sensations of his skin against hers, the feel of his solid arms around her, his fingers digging into her hips, almost bruising her pale skin as he moved inside her. Instinctively she smoothed her palm over the space he had occupied, mourning the loss of him. Hollow emptiness and an urgent need to have him again, touching, kissing, filling her and completing her battled silently with shame. She had given in to it. Lay writhing, moaning, begging for more underneath him, cried out for his touch and still ached for more, yet they, _he_ was only feet away, underground in the dark, still suffering. How could she want him? How could she be so overtaken with desire she could forget everything that happened here. How could she love him? It felt so right, but so very, very wrong.

Prairie sighed deeply, stirred only from her own tortured thoughts by the sound of Hap clattering around elsewhere in the house. It sounded like it came from the kitchen. She felt a fool to even think it, childish, needy, especially amongst the jumble of confused other thoughts whirling around her head, but she hated he wasn’t there when she woke up. Prairie had little experience of ‘the morning after’. Was this normal? Was this a rejection and an expression of regret or disinterest on his part? She didn’t think she could stand it if that was what was happening. Then she reminded herself, Hap said he loved her. If that was real and true then it could be all over, he could change, if he truly loved her he could let the others go and she could stay. Stay here with him, not because she had to, but because she wanted to, because she wanted to be with him. However deeply Homer would feel her betrayal, ultimately it could save him and set him free. Prairie took comfort in that thought.

Another crash from the kitchen stirred her to move. Her clothes were still on the bathroom floor where she had abandoned them hours ago. Prairie briefly considered boldly stepping out naked, but doubt prevented it. Instead she picked up Hap’s shirt and pulled it on over her head. Though her frame was lost in it, she liked the feel of it. It still smelled of him. Padding softly and quietly through the house, the made her way to the source of the noise. The sight of him, flustered and trying to make breakfast in only his underwear, the chaos laid out on the kitchen bench as he had seemingly used every pot, pan and plate in the cupboard made her smirk. This wasn’t his strong point. Sometimes she wondered if he had barely eaten at all before she had handed him that sandwich. Opening her mouth to speak, she thought better of it and instead tiptoed silently across the room. She hovered for a second as she reached him, still oblivious to her presence and consumed in his task, until she could no longer resist snaking her arms around him, pressing her head against his back and brushing her fingers over his.

Hap jumped in surprise, dropping the whisk he had been attacking the eggs with.

“You’re awake, I was trying to make you breakfast.”

“It sounds like you’re making a mess,” she smiled as he took her hand and drew it to his lips, softly kissing the pad of each finger in turn, followed by each knuckle with a gentle reverence.

“My angel,” he whispered.

They had been here before; almost. This time it was different. The unspoken had been said. He turned to her, cupping her face in his hands, his lips barely brushing over hers until aching need took over and he became more insistent, demanding her mouth to open to allow his tongue to explore hers, burying any thoughts of rejection or regret on his part she may have harboured. Guilt drowned in the depths of their kiss and she was left with only the warm glow of love and hot spikes of lust as his hands slid down her back and squeezed firmly at the curve of her bottom, dragging her close to him. His erection dug into her and the wanton ache between her thighs only intensified as he raised her leg to grind against her already soaked cunt. She let out a strangled cry at the delicious friction, urging him for more, now wild with desire. Prairie panted desperately as he held her tightly with one arm to allow his fingers to find her needy pussy, wet and aching to be fucked. Hap’s fingers worked urgently and roughly inside her, drawing out every mewl and whine as she bucked against his rhythm until ripples of pleasure were spreading out from her core and she was riding out her orgasm against him.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

Prairie got her breath back slowly, unable to reply at first.

“Something’s burning,” she laughed.

“I think that might be me, fuck breakfast I need you.”

Hap paused as Prairie stepped back, his posture stiffening under her fingers, becoming noticeably uncomfortable. Prairie frowned.

“What’s wrong, Hap?”

“That’s mine,” he said holding on tightly to the hem of the shirt.

“I…I didn’t think you’d… mind,” she replied, confused by his response.

“I don’t, it’s just, it’s nothing. I promise.”

“Hap what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, someone, someone else used to do that, a long time ago, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything, you don’t want to hear…”

“Did you love her?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “But I hurt her. I’ve hurt you. I’m not… you deserve…”

“Hap, shut up,” she insisted, putting her lips to his to silence him.

“Come on,” she whispered, limply offering him her hand.

He took it, flicking the stove off as he passed, to lead her back to the bedroom.

She flicked impatiently at the waist band of his boxer shorts, having already yanked his shirt back off and returning it to the floor where she had found it.

“Take them off and sit on the bed,” she commanded.

Hap obeyed unquestioningly, mesmorised by her once more naked form and this new confidence she had found. He swallowed as she sunk to her knees in front of him.

“I want to say thank you,” she whispered breathily.

“What for?”

“Breakfast?” she offered.

“You didn’t get any.”

“I guess I’m hungry then.”

She licked her lips wickedly as she took a firm grip of his hard cock, extracting a guttural sound of approval. Hap watched he intently.

“I’ve never…I’ve never done this before,” she said as a little of her confidence slipped away.

“You don’t have to, I don’t expect…”

It was too late. She had already bowed her head and took him in her mouth. Hap groaned hard.

“Will you tell me if I’m doing it right?” she asked in between languid licks down the length of his cock.

“Oh, you’re doing it right,” he managed as his fingers raked into her hair.

She took him into her mouth as deep as she could, revelling in the taste, the feel of him, smooth, hard and throbbing into her willing mouth.

“Fuck, Prairie, fuck,” he forced out as she started to work a slow steady rhythm, almost pulling away, lingering to tease him before taking him all the way back in. Even as she found her jaw starting to ache, the first taste of his excitement and the way his fingers automatically urged her on, pressing without forcing her back down, she wanted, needed to continue. She felt his firm thighs start to tense and knew he could only speak through gritted teeth; he was so close now.

“Please, you must…you should stop, I’m…”

She refused, she wanted this.

It was too late. The taste of hot, salty come filled her mouth. Though it shocked her at first, it excited her just as much, the feeling of power and control, the intimacy of the act. Unsure at first, she raised her head and swallowed it all with a gulp. How she wanted to look at him. There was quiet, a silence only punctuated by his ragged breath. It seemed to last forever, until she couldn’t help but break it.

“Was that…ok?”

He could only laugh and pull her up on to the bed beside him.

“You have no idea how wonderful you are, do you?”

 

______________________

 

They lay on the bed, tangled in a Gordian Knot of love, lies and limbs. Prairie rested her head against his chest listening to the sound of his heart still thumping in his chest.

“How long?” he asked, finally breaking a long silence. “How long have you wanted this, felt like _this_. How long have you known? Is this real, Prairie? Is it just Stockholm Syndrome, you’ve been here so long?”

“I know what that is. It’s not that, Hap, trust me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Insecurity and doubt gnawed at him. In spite of all that had happened in the last day, he still couldn’t comprehend how she could possibly want him, love him even.

“I’ve always known. Since the first time I heard this sound, on your machine, in that Oyster Bar. I’ve always known deep down. You never had to…”

“Don’t,” he snapped, already wounded by the words she was yet to say; words he could not stand to hear. “Please, Prairie, don’t not now. Not like this,” he softened and gripped her fingers tighter in his, clinging on to her.

She steeled herself. There was something she knew she had to do. She couldn’t bare the guilt and weight of the lie she had carried around for so long at times she had almost forgotten it existed. Truthfully, she had no idea how to tell him she could see.

“There’s something I have to tell you. I don’t know how to even begin. I’m afraid to even start to tell you, but I know I have to, otherwise it will only come between us.”

“Sh, later, you can tell me anything you like, and it won’t matter, but later. There are things I’ve done. Terrible things that you know about, more that you don’t, and I promise I’ll tell you it all if you can forgive me for it, if you’ll promise to forgive me for it, but not now, not yet. I want to keep this moment the way it is. I don’t deserve it, don’t deserve you, but let me have this.”

“Ok,” she sighed, part of her wanting to just blurt it, another relieved she didn’t have to. She understood what he meant.

 

___________________

 

Time had lost it’s meaning. They had slept, even Hap had drifted off for a while, made love again and they had finally eaten. Though Prairie had offered to make something, Hap insisted he would try again.

“You were right, I can’t cook. I’m sorry its not a patch on what you make for me.”

“Most of the time,” she said sadly, remembering what she had almost done, relieved she did not have to look at him for a moment.

“You could have, you could have Prairie, but you didn’t, you didn’t because you are good,” he said reaching out to comfort her.

“I thought about it. I couldn’t. I thought about it in the kitchen, with a knife. I did. I thought about whether or not I should or if I could, how I would…I can’t imagine, I’m sorry.” Prairie was tearful, almost sobbing at the thought.

“No. I’m the one who should be sorry. How can you think you should be sorry after what I’ve done? I’m a monster and you are an angel. I’m going to make it up to you now, I promise you’ll live like a queen and the work, we can achieve so much more like this, Prairie, we could find the answer together.”

Prairie wanted to ask him to let the others go. She knew he wasn’t ready for that. Instead she would wait. Hap had been alone so long, starved of love, starved of touch, obsessing over his work, she knew it couldn’t happen overnight, but had to believe it would happen, that he would soften and relent and do as she would ask. She bit her tongue and made a decision. Prairie owed them, she owed Homer. Even in her own mind she could hardly bring herself to think of his name.

“I don’t want you to treat me any differently,” she said. It was matter-of-fact, a determined response to help others. She didn’t want to leave him, go back down there, but she would because it was what she had to do to make him see sense.

“But you’ll stay, in the house with me?” Worry filled his eyes and he frowned deeply and what he thought she was implying.

“Not yet, please, don’t ask questions, just do this for me. If you love me, you’ll do this for me.”

He wondered if it was a test; he allowed himself to briefly wonder if this was all a charade, part of an escape plan hatched with _him_.

“If you’re sure, if it’s what you want, then I’ll do it and hate every second of it for you. If this is to punish me for what I’ve done then I accept it.” Hap was besotted and overwhelmed by the beautiful, soft warm creature he was clinging on to. It would hurt him to take her back down those winding stairs; the agony of closing the door on her and locking it would burn. He deserved to suffer; he would take it if she willed it. He pushed away his doubts, though jealousy still threatened to ruin the moment.

As she kissed him softly, he sensed this was a kiss goodbye, at least for now.

“Do I have to leave you there?”

“Yes,” she smiled, “and you have to miss me.”

Reluctantly he punched the numbers of the door code in and followed her down the stair case. Confronted with her cell he felt a twinge of guilt, yet something else more compelling and consuming took over. _That_ boy had leapt to his feet and watched intently as they approached. Jealousy, rage and triumphant smugness fought within him. He couldn’t help himself; he had won.

“Prairie, are you ok? Where have you been? You’ve been gone so long? Did he hurt you?”

Prairie was frozen unable to speak, choking on the guilt at what she had done. She had been able to push it out of her mind when the steel door had separated the two worlds, now they were colliding.

“Please, say something, tell me you’re ok.”

Hap couldn’t resist.

“She’s fine. Better than fine. She’s been upstairs with me…in my bed.”

His voice was cold and callous. There was no doubt he was enjoying the moment, his eyes fixed on Homer’s face as he tried to make sense of what he had said. Prairie’s mouth fell open.

“You’re lying,” Homer spat angrily, his eyes darting to Prairie’s face, her expression of tearful shame confirming the truth.

“He forced you, he made you. Tell me he made you.” Homer’s pleas were frantic, his face crumpling more with every word.

She could not speak. She would not lie to him; she could not bring herself to confirm it and see him hurt, in front of the others, so cruelly. Anger at both Hap and at herself rose up from the pit of her stomach, filling her mouth with the bitter taste of bile. She didn’t need to turn around to know Hap was smirking.

It was Scott who broke the tense silence. “you think you can fuck your way out of here? Nice move,” he laughed. “How’s that for a kick in the balls, Homer? Your girlfriend fucked the psycho and I think she liked it.” Even through the dark trace of amusement in his voice, his words were cutting; Prairie winced, still stood in the limbo of the doorway to her cell.

“Shut up, Scott, Jesus,” said Rachel, watching the scene unfold from her bed.

“Why?” said Homer, “tell me why. I thought you…I thought…”

“She doesn’t,” snapped Hap. “Come on, Prairie. Come back upstairs,” he extended his hand and tried to take hers, but she swatted it away.

“No.” she said firmly.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t stay here. You don’t belong with _them_.”

“No,” she stated again, adamant, furious at his gloating.

He huffed angrily, conscious of his audience.

“Very well, if that’s what you want.”

Hap locked the door behind her, taking in one last glance at Homer, sat back on his bed with his knees pulled up and his eyes reddening, his victory soured by Prairie’s refusal to come with him.

Prairie silently made her way to her bed unable to look at the others, flinching as the door slammed at the top of the stairs, the sound followed rapidly by the loud thumping of music, as Hap muffled the crash of his fist smashing against the wall above them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, tis an angsty one my friends! 
> 
> As always,thanks for your kind words and kudos.  
> I always appreciate your thoughts and ideas are all welcome.

The basement fell silent. Even Scott managed to hold his tongue. Drawing up his knees, Homer hid his face, concealing the hurt that rocked through him. He couldn’t stand to look at her. Much as Prairie wished to say something, wanted to be able to explain herself and apologise she knew better than to even attempt it. He would speak to her when he was ready. Time was lost down there; it always was. The other two went about their daily routines and Prairie would occasionally catch Rachel looking with concern at Homer, who had still not moved. It had been hours; it felt like days.

She had no right, but couldn’t watch him any longer, she needed to do or say something, at least attempt to put things right. Slowly, she made her way across her cell and tapped gently on the glass.

“Homer, say something, anything, please.”

He didn’t stir or look up and his refusal to even acknowledge her was acutely painful, even if it was no more than she deserved.

“I…I know you must hate me, I hate myself right now. I hate seeing you like this. I owe you, you deserve an explanation.”

Still he said nothing.

“I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry, Homer. I am truly sorry I did this to you.”

Finally, just as she was starting to retreat, the unbearable silence was broken by his desperation to know and understand.

“Why,” he whispered hoarsely.

Prairie sighed and prepared herself for a difficult conversation.

“Just tell me that,” he said, slowly raising his head, still avoiding eye contact. "Did you want it? Please don’t treat me like an idiot. Did you, did you do it for us? To get us out of here. I’d hate it, but I could understand that. I could forgive that, admire that you would be willing to do something like that to help us all.” His eyes, reddened and wide, met hers. “Say that’s true.”

“I wanted it. I wanted it to happen.”

“Did he force you, because that bastard is clever? Maybe he just made you think you did.” There was a hopelessness in this voice that told Prairie deep down he knew that wasn’t the case.

“No. He didn’t. I know that’s not what you want to hear. I…”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t you tell me that you have feelings for him, that you love _him_ because that can’t be true. How could you? Look at what he does to you, to all of us. He’s a monster, how could you feel that way about him? You just can’t.” The anger in his voice was rising. “He…he drugged you, made you crazy, but you don’t love him.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, knowing it was weak and useless. “I do. I know I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I feel guilty, and ashamed and confused but I just do. I’m…”

“Stop saying you’re fucking sorry, just stop because sorry doesn’t cut it. How long? Are you his little spy down here? Is that why you’re back down here, did he send you to watch us, report back, make notes for his fucking study?”

He had risen to his feet now, pacing the precious square footage of the cell that had been his home for so long. The glass wall between their cells was no longer the only thing dividing them.

“No, it’s not like that,” she sobbed, trying to hold in her tears, knowing she was unfit for sympathy.

“Answer me then, how long?”

“I don’t know. I…I think I’ve always felt something, something I knew I shouldn’t. I never said it. I couldn’t say it.”

“So, you led me on?” his accusing tone burned.

“No, Homer. I care for you. I care deeply. I love you. It’s just…different.”

“Damn right it’s different.” He raked his hands over his face and through his hair, clutching, despairing at what he was trying to make sense of.

Breathing deeply, he tried again to make it sound better, more tolerable.

“Is it because I can’t touch you, because we’re stuck behind this glass and you needed…something,” he pleaded.

“No, it’s not. I wish it was. I can’t even explain it to myself. I don’t know how long I’ve felt this way, since the beginning I guess. I didn’t want it to be true, I tried to deny it.”

He gritted his teeth and balled his fist. Raising his voice, he asked once more, spitting his words at her with venom. “How. Long. Have you. Been fucking _him_?”

“This was the first time anything ever happened between us.” She tried to be matter of fact but was still forcing back the tide of tears that threatened to spill out at any moment. Prairie was determined not to cry, she wasn’t the victim here.

There was an awkward, protracted silence as he considered his next question.

“Who started it?” Homer said coldly.

She paused and breathed deeply.

“I did.”

His coolness didn’t last, and anger spiked again.

“Fucking bitch. It didn’t do you any good because he brought you back down here to rot with the rest of us. Do you feel used, because that’s what he did?”

“I asked him to bring me back. I didn’t want to just leave you here, any of you, not like that. I can talk to him, get him to see sense and let you all go. He can change. I know he can. I have to believe that.” Prairie stopped herself from saying anymore. A defence, pleading a case for Hap and the man she hoped he could be would only insult the others.

“How noble of you. You really are the angel to save us all,” he replied, the bitterness and sarcasm she had to expect was evident. Homer sunk down against the glass, his back to Prairie, to conceal his crumpled face.

She took it, she had earned every word and expected far worse if she was honest.

“You have every right to hate me, Homer. I don’t like it, but I can accept it because I have to. I promise you. I promise you all. I will get you out of here.”

I don’t hate you,” he said softly. “I love you.”

 

They said nothing more to each other that night. Prairie lay silently, curled up in a ball, crying inside. Homer lay on his bed, his back to her, equally still and quiet.

“Guess that’s the drama over for this evening,” Scott said, no longer able to contain his urge to comment.

Nobody bit.

“Hey, Rachel,” he tried again.

“What, Scott?” she sighed.

“You think he bothered to wear a rubber, or is the spawn of Satan already on the way? You think there’d be any numbers on the kid? Fallen fucking angel, full of fucking shit.”

Prairie listened. His words hurt. She hadn’t thought about that. It had never entered her head that was a possibility. The thought of it terrified her and she pushed it away.

“Scott, shut up, you’re not helping,” said Rachel, ever the peacemaker.

There was quiet again.

“Hey, Rachel?” Scott said again.

“What,” she snapped back, irritated at his need to provoke.

“Would you fuck him?”

“Fuck you, Scott, just fuck you.”

He chuckled. Aware this was how he coped with the situation he found himself in, Prairie felt no resentment. Somewhere, buried in all that was a defence of Homer. At least she could find comfort in that.

Waves of anger came and went at Hap’s unnecessary cruelty, mixing with her own shame at her own feelings. Guilt stung her as a part of her longed for the door to open. A bitter conflict raged between punishing herself and him, and the desire to see him and be close to him. For now, this punishment brought a comfort of its own. Without doubt she meant what she had said. She would fix this for them all.

 

____________________

 

 

Hap remained upstairs, daring himself to look at the images from the cameras below, challenging himself not to. The idea that a reconciliation was taking place tormented him. He had won. He was a fool. He would now pay the price. Wondering if he should have ever agreed to taking her back down there, he slowly tidied up the mess he had made in the house. At least he had enough self-control to not disturb his work. Hatred burned for _that boy_. Until Prairie came along he had felt nothing but professional indifference towards Homer. She had changed all that the second he had shown an interest in her. Scott on the other hand, he had despised him from the start.

A few weeks after he had buried Laura, he set out to find a new subject. He had painstakingly browsed a set of possibilities, trawled the media, websites looking for leads. He had stumbled on Scott by chance and it was easy. There was no need for any great pretence or elaborate ruse. Hap saw nothing but a loser, a worthless, desperate junkie. Different drug, he thought, same result. Scott had asked no questions, accepting Hap’s thin story with little hesitation. A financial incentive sealed his fate. Choosing someone nobody would miss seemed wise.

This time there were no nerves, no doubts or struggles. The weak, pathetic and self-destructive subject in front of him was so easy to convince and possessed all of the qualities he had grown to resent in Laura. Her death still didn’t sit comfortably with him. Somewhere repressed, beneath the surface, he saw a means to punish himself, to punish her through Scott and a focus for his own guilt: the work. It would be such a waste to allow her death to count for nothing. Five, the number five repeated in his mind and at least her contribution could mean something.

Hap remembered vividly the dank alley where he had convinced Scott to come to the mine, to take part in an experiment, earn some money and get clean. The muffled sound of the music in the dive bar behind them and the dark of night providing enough cover.

“I can help you,” he had said coldly, but convincingly.

“Seriously man, thanks. I need this. I so need this. I have to get out of here.”

Scott wasn’t Laura. He had kicked and screamed on the first night in his cell, crawling the glass walls as the drugs left his system. Remorselessly, Hap waited for it to subside, playing loud music to blot out the anguish below. As Scott grew stronger and clearer-headed, the gas became necessary. Laura had always hated being awake, he wasn’t totally oblivious to the terror in her eyes, but it was a necessary step. His evidence pointed to the fact that consciousness prior to death made no difference to the efficacy of the tests. It was no act of mercy, it was convenient. Their hatred was mutual.  

He could stand it no more. Forcing himself to look, the sight of her forlorn figure on her bed made up his mind he would have to face it. He tentatively made his way down the stairs.  

 

__________________

 

Finally, Prairie heard the familiar clank of the door. His footsteps were calm and considered. Hap said nothing as he cautiously unlocked the door to her cell and waited. She remained motionless on the bed and said nothing. Aware of his audience looking on with interest, he cleared his throat. Still nothing.

“Prairie?”

It was met with stony silence.

“Ha ha, Hap, I guess you weren’t all that.

Hap glared at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Apologise,” Prairie snapped suddenly.

It was uncomfortable for him, but he understood these were her terms.

“Prairie, I’m sorry.”

His words were real, genuine and heartfelt. It pained him to have hurt her.

“Not to me, to them, to him.”

“I…” he stumbled.

“For keeping them here. For saying something just to hurt somebody, to be needlessly cruel, to score cheap points when you don’t have to. Be sorry for that.”

Her determination and conviction were both admirable and infuriating to him. Hap was under no illusions that she would refuse to move without his compliance. He resented the lack of control.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Not good enough.”

“I’m sorry…to you all,” he managed.

Slowly drawing herself to her feet, Prairie said nothing and moved towards the door. Hap sighed inwardly in relief.

Homer watched from the corner of his eye, observing her downward gaze and her movements closely as she followed Hap to the stairs.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” he said.

Rachel gasped, knowing what he was about to do.

“You know what, Hap,” Homer said bitterly, “she can see.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter update than planned, but I feel rotten keeping you guys hanging and I have been somewhat side tracked by Lucius Malfoy.   
> It's an angsty one. I'm sorry, well not that sorry.  
> Thanks for all your support, your kudos and comments do keep me going and I am overwhelmed by the support for this fic in a fairly small, but perfectly formed fandom!   
> A shout out to Christine and a thank you for cheerleading this.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, or at least don't suffer too much ;)  
> Let me know what you think!

Hap stopped suddenly yet was superficially calmly. He gritted his teeth silently, then carried on up the stairs at a calculated and measured pace, careful not to let anyone see that what had been said had moved him in any way.

Prairie didn’t turn around, she squeezed her eyes closed and breathed deeply. This was always going to happen; she was always going to have to tell him the truth, only she had hoped it would be on her own terms. She had no right to feel angry at Homer for what he had said, perhaps it was what she deserved. If punishing her gave him some comfort, she was prepared to take it and remain dignified. Ultimately, she had lied, justifiably so at one point, but she had been too weak and afraid to tell him when she had the chance. With no idea how this would play out, she continued on with heavy legs until she reached the top stair, her eyes cast down as he waited for her to pass through the door and into the house. Hap closed the door between Prairie’s two worlds, still methodical in his movements; the calm before the storm.

“Sit,” he said guiding her to the chair, one hand rested in the small of her back, steering her, the other resting gently on her forearm. It was as if he hadn’t heard what Homer had said, or at least was choosing to ignore it. Prairie kept her head down and allowed the charade to play out. Hap sat down too. There was a silence and she waited patiently for it to come.

Finally, he broke.

“Is it true?”

His voice was distant, weary, even sad and defeated, like he knew the answer, but was still compelled to ask.

Prairie lifted her head slowly and for the first time she looked directly and openly into Hap’s eyes. Wishing so desperately that it wasn’t now, wasn’t here like this, she couldn’t help but think how beautiful they were, crystal blue and soulful, magnified by his glasses. Their eyes met. She fought to hold his gaze as if that would hold them together through all of this.

“It’s true,” she sighed.

Hap’s gaze flicked away from her, deep in contemplation.

“When? When did this happen?” His tone became almost excited, they way she imagined it to lift when he thought he was on the verge of discovering something new or had made a breakthrough. “Was it…?”

“When I got hit over the head.” Prairie didn’t let him finish that train of thought.

Hap swallowed down shame.

“When I hit you.”

Resting his hands on his elbows, he buried his face in his hands.

“I couldn’t…” she pleaded.

“Of course you couldn’t.” He paused for a moment. “When you made the stew, you could see.” It was a blunt statement; his excitement had faded again.

“I crushed up pills. I put them in your food. I was going to… the rest was an accident. I didn’t know. How could I have known.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

This was an unexpected response. Anticipating anger and raised voices, she was so utterly unprepared for this. For the quiet disappointment, melancholy sighs and resigned acceptance. Hap wasn’t angry; he was devastated.

“You could have left me to die,” he rasped.

“No, I couldn’t.”

Tears fought at the corners of her eyes, but she pushed them back down.

“Then why didn’t you tell me, Prairie? I said things I have never said to anyone. You let me. You said…was that a lie too?” Did you and _that, that boy_ down there cook up this plan to get out of here. Did you think I was, what? An idiot? A lonely old fool? Ironic, I guess I was the one who was blind all along.” There was the anger she was waiting for.

“I couldn’t tell you. I tried, and you stopped me. I wanted to. I wanted to be able to look at you because I’ve always been able to _see_ you.”

Hap looked perplexed, at first unsure if this was a deep metaphor he couldn’t truly make sense of, or an admission the lie was even bigger than he could comprehend.

“The real you, your inner self. That you could be so much more than this,” she tried desperately to explain.

“I am who I am, Prairie, _this_ is who I am.”

“You’re wrong, so wrong because if this really is all you are and all you were ever meant to be, then how could I possibly love you like I do. It’s you, it’s always been you. You were meant to find me in that station that day, lost and alone. Both of us lost and alone. It was always meant to be this way, we were always meant to be. Don’t ask me how, but believe me, I know it’s true.”

He was stunned, unable to find words to articulate his thoughts and feelings. Such a usually ordered mind thrown into chaos by the fragile, slender, blonde figure now leaning forwards looking so intently at him she bored into his soul. He asked himself if it really mattered; blind or sighted; truth or lies, he loved her with every fibre of his being. She was an ethereal, gentle yet strong creature and had imprinted herself inextricably onto him.

“Wait there,” he instructed and disappeared into a cupboard.

He emerged with something familiar, so long lost to Prairie she was instantly tearful to see it again. It was a relic of another world, another life. It was her violin, in its case exactly as she left it all those years ago.

“Will you…will you play for me?” he asked, ashamedly swiping off the layer of dust on the neglected possession, unclipping the latches on the case and tentatively offering the instrument and its bow.

“I might be a little…out of practice. It’s been a long time since I even held this.”

“Seven years,” he barely whispered, loaded with guilt. “Please, like you did the day I met you, for me.”

Prairie rested it where it should sit, immediately comfortable and without adjustment, like a reunion with an old friend, a dear old friend who had consoled her through the worst of times, the most awful of days. There had been times when she had missed its comfort and cursed him for robbing her of it, when she had longed to bury herself deep within the music and find freedom in it. Other days she had resented its sound and would be as glad to never hear it again. It had drawn him to her like a powerful magnet, involuntarily dragging his feet in her direction. It was the proof, the clue, the only thing he needed to know to understand her secret in an instant.

Finding the first note like it was only yesterday, she began to play. Hap closed his eyes, transported at once to another place, another time, to where it all began.

Hap didn’t know the precise moment it had happened, it was like it had always been there. He was back in the station, the haunting sound of a violin piercing through his headphones that were meant to shield him from the cacophony of chatter and footsteps that surrounded him. Hap had always been sensitive to noise, but this sound broke through his defences and crawled in through his ears. It made him stop suddenly. He knew there and then that whoever was making that sound was special, gifted in a way no ordinary musician could be. It called to him. She called to him like a siren summoning him to his doom and he walked willingly, almost knowingly to it. The moment he laid eyes on her he was done for, lost in her music as sorrow poured out from the strings. Prairie Johnson had claimed Hunter Aloysius Percy as her own by the third bar.

After Scott, Rachel had been easy, almost too eager to agree, passive, trusting and compliant. She had barely kicked up a fuss at her imprisonment. _That boy,_ his desperation was easily exploited, he was for sale and cheap at that. But her, she was a fortuitous accident, graceful, captivating and so very innocent. Hap had felt the weight of taking her, then and every day since. The rhythmic thud of her heartbeat on the monitor consumed him almost as much as her music. He was good at this now, accomplished, confident. There was so little to force him to go to any great lengths to convince her to accompany him. Her vulnerability stood out a mile. A lost, blind girl, searching in vain for her father in a large and unfamiliar city, it was an ideal situation to exploit. Yet there he was, sitting looking at her, captivated in an Oyster Bar of all places. Hap tried his best to convince himself that it was simply convenient and close by. There were a hundred other places to eat, no more than a stone’s throw from Central Station, consciously or not he was treating this like a date. Small town, young girl, a greasy burger joint wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow. Deep down Hap knew he didn’t need to impress her, but there he was showing off his machine, enraptured by the sound of her skittish little heart, wondering if it was beating a little faster for him and trying to feed her aphrodisiacs.

Guilt was an emotion he hadn’t felt for a long time. Not really. He had felt remorse, a trace of sadness and disappointment as he had held on to Laura’s lifeless body at the bottom of the staircase, but genuine guilt felt alien to him. Uncertain that was even an accurate description of what he was feeling, he considered walking away. She was too beautiful, soft golden hair and flawless alabaster skin with the softest laugh and sweetest smile he had ever seen. What’s more she was blind. Blind to vanity, to her own beauty, to the cold, hard realities of the world and most of all, blind to what he was. Despite all that, Hap feared her. He was afraid he couldn’t resist her if she would have him, found himself leaning in closer, making excuses in his mind that every time he touched her it was because of her sight. Instantly smitten, he had to try and walk away. Having seen where that road lead, when the lines became fuzzy and blurred, determined not to make that mistake twice he had tried to walk away; she wouldn’t let him.

Prairie’s words were etched onto his soul forever. There was no agenda; no chasing an ultimate high; no road out of a difficult situation and no financial gain. She volunteered and though she didn’t really understand just what she had consented to, it came from a place of pure altruism. How many times had he tried to console himself with that thought? That she had chosen this. Hap knew he should have left her there, free and in the light, as far away from him as she could be, but instead he took her. Truth be told he couldn’t stand to let her go. He was weak. Prairie had contributed so much to his work, she had so much more to give. Telling himself that was the only reason he clung on to her so desperately was pointless now, not when he had felt her warmth, her softness against him, heard those soft sighs of joy, yet another sound he could not forget. It was all or nothing.

Every mournful note she played tugged at his heavy heart. If he truly loved her, if he loved her like he knew he did now he _should_ have let her go. The final note played. Silence fell, their song had ended.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, Vin :)  
> Comments give me life, please feed the author!


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